


Finding Home

by snarkymuch



Series: Lost and Found [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: And baking myself an AU pie, Bucky Barnes Is a Good Bro, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Cherry picking things off the canon tree, Everyone Needs A Hug, Existing In My Own Bubble Of Time, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Torture, Pepper Potts Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Protective Bucky Barnes, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Torture, and Peter gets kidnapped, endgame? who's she?, hydra are asshats, no beta we die like men, unpredictable updates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2020-05-20 21:12:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 43,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19384753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkymuch/pseuds/snarkymuch
Summary: Sequel to Unexpected FindsA story about friendship, family, and love. Peter found a home with Tony and the avengers, and now he’s helping Bucky find one, too. Hydra are asshats and Peter gets kidnapped. There’s some emotional and physical whump. There’s forgiveness, too, even when it's least expected. Warning for torture, though not too graphic.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I have a pretty good idea where this is going, but then again, the characters do what they want. I have seriously no idea if this will be short or long. I don't have a posting schedule. I'm just posting as I turn out chapters because that's how I roll. So, I hope you like.

The pavement beneath him was damp, water puddled in the dips and cracks around him. The air held the familiar scent of rain, but it was tainted by the smell of wet garbage from the dumpster beside him. 

Bucky pulled his worn jacket around himself, hunching down against the back wall of the alley, keeping himself in the corner. He couldn't risk someone surprising him from behind. He'd come too far. 

Things still weren't clear, but some of his memories had returned. He knew his name now, or at least the one that floated through his dreams. He wasn't just James. He was also Bucky, though he wasn't sure that name suited him just yet. 

When he thought of the odd name, it brought him to a different place, or maybe it was a time, he wasn't sure. He had memories of a scrawny kid with an attitude saying it. He remembered watching out for the blond-haired kid, pulling him out of fights in alleys, fights he had no right to be in given his size.

His head started to hurt the more he tried to remember. It was easier to let things slowly come to him. He'd learned patience over the last few years since he'd been away from Hydra, away from the chair. He shivered at the memory. Every time they'd put him in the chair, he’d lose himself, become a machine, a weapon. He was the Fist of Hydra. The things he'd done, there was no forgiveness for that. 

After he'd first escaped, he didn't remember much, but within months, shards of broken memories began to piece themselves together. He didn't just start to remember who he was, he began to remember what he'd done. The faces of the dead began to haunt his dreams, and he nearly lost himself to the pain. 

That was until his travels brought him back to Brooklyn, and he met someone that reminded him of the blond kid he'd known so long ago. The kid from his memories may have been gone, but he could do something to help the one in front of him.

He'd been settling down for the night, curling up in the corner of the alley, a piece of cardboard acting as a blanket, when he heard the scuffle. He didn't like to get involved in skirmishes, but it was four on one, and the little guy was losing. He tried to convince himself that it wasn't his fight, but something in him caught on the way the kid just kept pushing himself back up.

"That all you got? I can do this all day."

Something clicked in his mind. He could remember those words coming out of the skinny blond a lifetime ago. 

Whoever this kid was, he didn't back down, and Bucky could appreciate that. 

One of the guys swung, and the kid dodged, quickly returning the hit with one of his own. 

"I don't want to hurt you," the kid said, wiping the blood that was dripping from his nose on his sleeve. 

Bucky shook his head and sighed. Did the kid not notice he was getting his ass whooped? The last thing he wanted to do was get in the middle of something, he was trying to hide, but he couldn't let the kid get beaten to a pulp either.

One of the thugs laughed. "Only one getting hurt is you. We warned you once. I think it's time we taught you a lesson."

The thug pulled out a knife, and instead of running, the crazy-ass kid smiled. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

Bucky couldn't watch anymore. He threw the cardboard off him, reaching for his gun at the same time. They all jumped, noticing him for the first time. 

Leveling his gaze on thugs, he stalked forward, gun raised. He flicked his eyes to the kid for a second and then back to attackers. His head tilted to the side as he stared them down. He knew how to make people fear him. He was trained for it. "We got a problem?"

The guy with the knife shook his head, taking a step back. "No, we're just leaving."

Bucky continued to watch them, eyes hard. "Cowards. I should just shoot you."

"Uh, hey, no, that's not necessary. Murdering people is kinda frowned upon, ya know? So maybe just let them go?" the kid rambled from beside him.

Bucky didn't look at him, just raised a brow. He lowered the gun, and the thug with the knife smiled. 

Wrong move, Bucky thought, just before he shot him in the foot.

The thug screamed, his buddies ran, and the kid turned on him.

"You can't just shoot people!"

Bucky shrugged. "He's breathing." He took a moment to really look the kid over. He was way too thin, a stiff breeze could take him out. "What's your name?"

The kid chewed his lip for a second, eyes locked on the gun. "If I tell you, you can't shoot anyone else."

"No promises, kid."

The kid swallowed, then looked up to meet his gaze. "Peter."

Bucky nodded. "James. Let's go find you some food."

And so began his newest mission.

Keeping Peter safe.

He shared his food and kept an eye on him, scaring off anyone who might try to mess with him. It gave him purpose, and it felt good. For the first time in a long time, Bucky began to feel like maybe there was something out there worth staying alive for. 

Despite trying to look out for the kid, Peter still managed to get into scrapes. Bucky would see him passing through early in the morning, bruises on his face, and protective rage would flare in him. He'd tried talking to Peter about it, but the kid stayed quiet, clearly protecting someone. 

He started following him after that, keeping to the shadows. His training let him go unseen. That's when he caught sight of the kid, bruised and bleeding behind an apartment building by a dumpster. It looked like he'd been stabbed in the leg and beaten severely. 

The backpack the kid always carried was beside him, hanging open, a bloodied suit of some kind hanging out. It took him a moment to make the connection, but when he did, the bruises and injuries made a lot more sense. Peter was the spider guy that had been hanging around Queens. He'd heard of him, and he wasn't sure whether to be proud or horrified at Peter's choice of hobbies.

Knowing that Peter probably wanted his identity to remain a secret, he stuffed everything into the bag and zipped it up before grabbing Peter and taking him someplace safe. Hydra had given Bucky enough training that he could handle treating most wounds. 

As he worked on him, a familiar feeling settled over him. This was something that made sense to him, caring for people, or maybe better put, caring for stubborn kids with no self-preservation. He wished he could remember more. It was like grasping at smoke, the harder he tried to grab into the memories, the thinner they became.

He kept an eye on Peter after that, and Peter seemed to keep an eye on him. There were times he'd slip into the past, but the kid didn't seem phased. He'd just keep talking, even if Bucky began speaking in Russian or German. 

He never told Peter he knew about his secret, and Peter never pushed him about any of his. They made a good pair. 

Everything was okay until the day that Peter didn't come home. All he found was a note tucked under the mat Bucky slept on, saying not to worry, that there was something he needed to do.

Bucky tried not to overthink it, but soon, one day turned into two, and then into a week, and Peter didn't show. He couldn't help but be hurt.

He searched the city but didn't find any trace. He didn't even know where to look. It wasn't uncommon for one of them to disappear for a while, but not for that long. 

After a while, Bucky started to question his own mind. Maybe the kid hadn’t even existed to begin with. Maybe it was just his messed up brain playing tricks. He pulled his coat around himself and laid down under cover of the small shelter he'd made, hoping that wherever Peter was, that he was okay.

Time past in a slow rhythm, and despite it all, he still kept recovering. More and more memories began to return, both good and bad. The scrawny kid from his memories became more evident, and a name seemed to float around the picture of him in his mind— _Steve_. 

He could remember pulling bullies off him, nursing him back to health, and maybe, though he wasn't sure, he thought he could remember him having a growth spurt? He wanted to remember, but it physically hurt to force it.

He was watching his surroundings from the small spot he'd set up camp when he saw a car approach. It stuck out against the overgrowth of the old construction lot he was hiding out in. 

Immediately, he went on alert, grabbing his gun from behind him and getting ready to move. It had been a long time since Hydra had sent anyone after him. He'd done an excellent job of hiding, but that was no guarantee. He slid the gun along his leg, keeping it hidden, but aiming at the driver. The car rolled to a stop, and Bucky tensed. 

As the driver’s door opened, he was prepared to bolt, but the face he saw made him freeze. It was familiar, but it didn't seem possible. His head hurt as he tried to process it. His memories collided in his mind, and he struggled to think. The uncertainty of the situation made him want to run, but he found himself watching, his body tense. 

The passenger side door opened, catching his attention, and another familiar sight greeted him, a head of brown curls and a smiling face _—Peter_. He looked better than Bucky could ever remember seeing him. His face had filled out, there was color in his cheeks, and he seemed happier.

His gaze went to the man who was now standing beside the car. He looked so much like Steve, it was uncanny. There were subtle differences, though. This guy looked more worn by life-like things hadn't been easy for him, but he had Steve's eyes. They were sharp and clear, catching the light. The beginnings of a beard grew on his face, but it didn't hide the familiar jawline and defiant chin.

He scowled at the pair, watching them closely.

The Steve lookalike pursed his lips, his brow tightening. Bucky stared him down, warning him off. There was no way he could be the real Steve. Bucky didn't have a great grasp of time, but he knew it had been too long for him to look so young. Something was very wrong.

Peter began to round the car, walking over to him. Bucky pushed himself to his feet, tucking his gun in the waistband of his jeans. Even though he knew Peter, he was still wary. 

His gaze flitted between the approaching kid and the impossible Steve, who was still standing rooted beside the car. 

Bucky swallowed, his shoulders tense, finger on the trigger of the gun. Every fiber of his being said run, but he stayed. Maybe not the best tactical decision, but he was curious.

Peter paused a few feet away, his smile faltering. “Hey,” he said, lifting his hand in a little wave, then his eyes fell to the gun. "You really need to stop with the gun."

Bucky pressed his lips together, the edges of his mouth pulling into a frown. He kept an eye on the Steve clone standing by the car, not trusting him. “Take care of what you needed?”

Peter's bit at his lip, shifting his weight between his feet. “Sorry about taking off like I did.” He rubbed at the back of his neck and then look over his shoulder at the lookalike. “I met some people. They took me in—helped me.”

Bucky squinted, glancing at Peter. “You smell better.”

The kid scrunched his face. “Um … thanks?”

He huffed, his gaze flicking to the fake Steve. The man was flexing his hands in and out of fists at his sides, his face pinched. He leveled his gaze back on Peter. “Who came with you?”

Peter shifted his gaze, looking past him. He chewed his lip. “It’s complicated.”

Bucky raised a brow, asking him to continue. 

“Um … it's a weird story. I don't really know where to start.” Peter lifted his chin to look Bucky in the eye. “I know this sounds weird, but you don't happen to recognize him, do you?”

Bucky kept his outward composure, but internally he was panicking. He did recognize the guy, but he knew it couldn't really be him. His concern that this was somehow an elaborate Hydra scheme to get him back made him tense. He began to calculate escape routes, plotting the fastest ways to get away without hurting Peter. 

"James?" Peter asked.

He blinked, looking to Peter for a moment. "I don't know."

The sound of footsteps made him tense, and his gaze snapped to the lookalike. He gave him his best glare, telling him in no uncertain terms that he needed to back off. 

Fake Steve seemed to get the hint and stopped. His expression twisted, and he looked like someone was shoving a stick up his ass. 

"What's going on?" Bucky asked Peter, not looking away from Fake Steve.

"You know him, don't you?"

Bucky licked his lips, ready to run. 

He saw Peter look to Steve, then turn back to him. "Your name wouldn't happen to be Bucky, would it?"

Panic washed over him, and he moved without thought. With one last glance at Peter, he bolted down the street, running for any cover he could find. He didn't know what was going on, but he didn't want to risk hurting Peter in a fight. 

He could hear the kid calling after him as his feet hammered the ground, but he didn't slow, wanting to get as much distance as he could. 

The sounds of his own footsteps were soon joined by the heavy beats of another. He tightened his jaw, knowing they were too fast and heavy to be Peter's. Fake Steve was closing the gap. 

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the determined eyes of the other man locked on him. 

"Buck, wait!" Fake Steve yelled.

He growled, trying to push himself harder, but the other man was faster. He debated shooting at him, maybe just in the leg, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Perhaps that was Hydra's plan, why they chose someone with Steve's face to bring him in.

Bucky could hear Fake Steve getting closer. Knowing he couldn't outrun him, he ran for the cover of old construction equipment, weaving between them. A length of rebar laying on a pile of broken cinder blocks caught his eye, and he grabbed it. 

Knowing he couldn't outrun him, he prepared himself to fight. In hand to hand, he hoped to have the advantage.

Using surprise to his advantage, he waited until Fake Steve was nearly on him, then spun, jumping and coming down with the chunk of rebar, not aiming to kill, only incapacitate. 

The steel bar connected with Fake Steve's head, making the man yelp. "Just stop! I only want to talk!"

Growling, Bucky dropped to a crouch, circling Fake Steve, twirling the metal bar. He kept an eye on his surroundings in case it was an ambush. "Who are you?"

The other man's expression shifted, the corners of his mouth turning down. He sounded hurt when he spoke. "You don't recognize me?"

Bucky narrowed his eyes, trying to stay focused, but memories of Steve, his Steve, were flooding his mind. "You're not him, and I ain't going back!"

He charged forward, catching Fake Steve off guard, knocking him to the ground. Bucky began slamming his metal fist into his face, again and again, anger, hurt, and loss driving him. 

No matter how many punches he threw, Fake Steve just took it, his face becoming bloody and bruised. 

"Fight me!" Bucky snarled.

Fake Steve gave a small shake of his head. Blood was dripping from the split above his eye, cheek swollen and bruised. "I won't hurt you, Buck, so I guess you'll just have to kill me."

"You're not him."

Steve met his gaze, the best he could with one swollen eye. "My name is Steven Grant Rogers, and when your sister Becca tried to reach me to dance, I broke her toe. I never knew when to back down from a fight and still don't."

Bucky began to let his fist fall, processing his words. His resolve began to falter, and he began to question himself. 

Fake Steve continued, "You were my best friend, and I hope you still are. I don’t know what’s happened to you, but we’ll figure it out. I'm with you, Buck, ‘til the end of the line."

Like a puzzle piece snapping into place, his words completed something in him. Hydra might be able to change someone's face, but they couldn't fake those words.

Bucky's gaze raked over the other man's face, taking in the familiar features beneath the bruises. His heart skipped a beat. "Stevie?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna post in the morning but decided maybe someone out there would like it early, so here you go!! Enjoy!

Steve watched as something changed in Bucky's expression, his eyes going a little wider, and his lips pursing. The feral look to his eyes seemed to fade and be replaced with something softer. He blinked a few times, arm still held ready to strike another blow, but Steve could see his resolve was wavering. 

"Stevie?" Bucky breathed, brows pulling together. 

He nearly choked on his breath at the nickname he never thought he'd hear repeated by that voice. "Yeah, Bucky. It's me."

Bucky shifted his weight, drawing himself back and getting to his feet. His body language seemed to be at war with itself like he was battling the urge to run and fight at the same time. His metal arm twitched, and the plates moved, realigning themselves. He rolled his shoulders, head shaking side to side.

Steve didn't dare move for fear of startling him. He looked fragile and dangerous at the same time. This wasn't the Bucky he’d grown up with, but then again, in a way he was. The way he had watched over Peter, looking out for the little guy, that was all Bucky. His edges might be rougher, but he was still in there, at least he hoped. Whatever had happened to him, Steve wasn’t going to let it stand in his way. He’d been given a second chance, and he was going to seize it.

Bucky hung his head, his hair falling around his face. He grabbed the back of his head with his metal hand, letting out a noise, not unlike a growl. His flesh hand seemed to tighten its grip on the gun. Steve tensed, waiting to see what happened.

Watching him from the ground, a hundred questions chased through his mind. Where had Bucky been? What had happened to his arm? How was he alive? But he knew the answers would have to wait. Bucky didn’t look ready to talk. He had changed. Gone was the confident man he remembered, and in his place was a stranger. This Bucky reminded him of the skittish dog they had befriended as kids--the one that had bitten Steve on the leg. Whatever had happened to him, it'd left him wary and dangerous, ready to lash out. The bruises on Steve’s face were proof of that.

Being careful to keep his movements slow, he shifted his weight onto an elbow and levered himself up, keeping his eyes on Bucky, who looked over at the action. The other man’s eyes narrowed. There was an emptiness in them that made Steve shudder, something that held both pain and the promise of it. Bucky held his gaze for a few intense seconds before releasing him and looking away. Steve breathed a sigh of relief at not being under it any longer.

The sound of footsteps approaching made them both turn their heads. Peter was walking their way cautiously, holding his hands out at his sides, palms facing forward. Steve lifted a hand to signal him to stop, not wanting to spook Bucky, but it was too late. He heard the crunch of gravel beside him and looked just in time to see Bucky bolting toward the fence.

Shoving himself to his feet, he watched Bucky go, the substantial feelings of loss and grief settling over him. He watched frozen as Bucky hopped the fence at the end of the lot. He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t lose Bucky again. This was his second chance.

Peter jogged over to Steve, stopping beside him. He could see from the rigid lines of Steve’s posture that he wanted to chase James, but from what Peter saw happen moments ago, he knew that wasn't a good idea. James had been on the defensive during the fight, but if cornered, he might really do some damage. Whatever was going on, Steve needed to chill and give him time to process. It was clear that James was just as shocked as Steve was when they saw each other.

Peter looked at Steve. “I know I’m just a kid, but you can’t go after him,” he said. "If you chase him, it'll only freak him out more. You gotta trust me on this.”

Steve broke his gaze away from the fence to look at Peter, a frown etching his face. "I can't lose him again. You don't understand."

"Look, I know you just want to help, but I don't think he's ready yet."

Steve looked back to where James had disappeared. "He shouldn't be out there alone."

Peter chewed his lip, an idea coming to mind, one he knew Steve and Tony wouldn’t like. "What if I went after him? Just to talk. He trusts me."

Steve's head snapped around, so he was looking at Peter. "Absolutely not. I'm already regretting not telling Tony about coming here today. I put you in danger. You're not going after him alone. You saw what he did to me.” 

His tone left little room for negotiation, but Peter didn't care. He knew James wouldn't hurt him. They'd watched each other’s backs, taken care of each other. James was like a big brother, or maybe more accurately, a slightly crazed uncle with violent tendencies. Either way, he cared about Peter and would never hurt him. He'd probably die before he did, and so would Peter. They were family and family took care of each other.

Peter took a few steps away from Steve, looking back over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, but I gotta do this. Tell Tony I'll be back as soon as I can."

Steve lunged forward, yelling his name, but Peter ran, bounding toward the fence. Lighter and more agile, he covered the distance faster than Steve. When he reached the fence, he jumped to the top, grabbing it and twisting to land smoothly on the other side. He heard Steve behind the whole time yelling his name, but he just kept running, and soon, he was weaving through the streets. 

Knowing Tony would track him, Peter undid the watch on his wrist and tossed it to the ground. He'd left his phone in the car, so he was free from any tech that could be tracked.

It didn't take long to lose Steve. Once he had, he started wracking his brain for where James would go first. 

They'd used an old, abandoned cargo van in the past, but he imagined that by now, it'd been hauled away. That left the empty buildings down by container terminal in Brooklyn. He'd found James there once, mute and on edge, ready for a fight. It had taken Peter two days to get him to speak again, but even then, he only spoke in what sounded like Russian mixed with broken English. It had taken some patience, but Peter had been able to bring him back around, though it had left him with questions about James’ past. 

The streets were busy, and he needed to find cover before people came looking. Without his suit, it was going to take a lot longer to reach the docks. He hadn't thought to wear his web-shooters either. He was more defenseless than usual, and he didn't like it. He just hoped he could stay out of trouble, or more accurately, that his Parker luck didn't make it appear. 

As he made his way toward Brooklyn, a sick feeling settled in his gut. He felt heavy with guilt for going after James, even though he knew it was the right thing to do. He just hoped that Tony would understand why he did it and not be too upset. They had just become a family, and he didn’t want to lose the man’s trust. He swallowed back the lump forming in his throat, trying to will the ache away, hoping that forgiveness waited for him at home.

The sounds of heavy equipment in the distance and the touch of saltiness to the air told him he was close. Looking around, he saw a familiar street sign and headed that way. After another minute of walking, the scenery changed and became more industrial and run down. Surveying the area, he took in his surroundings. There were a few older buildings that he knew James could be hiding in. Moving quickly, he jogged to the nearest one. It was mostly boarded-up, but he knew that wouldn’t stop the man.

As he suspected, the building was locked uptight, and he couldn't find a natural access point. Going around back, he found a window toward the second floor that looked usable. Glancing around to make sure he was alone, he scurried up the wall to the window, pushing it open and slipping inside. 

He hung from the window ledge inside the building, squinting into the darkness. He was in some kind of office, an old desk still sitting against the wall, papers littering the floor. The door to the room was open, but Peter couldn't see much beyond a few feet. 

Slowly, he lowered himself to the floor, dropping down with a soft thud. Cocking his head to the side, he listened for any signs someone might be hiding nearby. His spidey sense wasn't alerting him to any danger, so he figured it was safe to go ahead and explore.

It only took a minute to clear the upstairs, his footfalls silent as he walked, peering into each room as he passed. He was just about to head downstairs when he heard something behind him. He turned, looking into the empty hall he’d just come from, but there was nothing there. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little spooked. Pushing down his nerves, he turned toward the staircase. He jumped when he saw a dark figure, large and looming, standing in his path.

Peter blinked, surprised that his spidey sense hadn't warned him, but when he saw the glint of silver, he knew why. It wasn't a random serial killer. It was James.

He relaxed a little, letting the tension slip from his shoulders. Even though James looked like he was ready to murder someone, Peter wasn't afraid. He was just glad he'd found him. 

The sound of James’ heavy breaths filled the air. "You shouldn't have come after me."

Peter swallowed, picking at his sleeve. “But I’m your friend. It’s what they do."

Instead of answering, James grunted and turned, walking downstairs and leaving Peter standing alone in the dark. 

That could have gone better, he thought, but then again, it could have gone a lot worse, too. At least he was speaking English. 

Sighing, his shoulders fell in defeat, and he rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. He felt another stab of guilt and regret, this time for betraying James’ trust. Peter knew how much the man valued his privacy. He should have known violating it wouldn’t end well.

There was a bang from downstairs, pulling Peter from his thoughts. Biting at the inside of his cheek, he debated on going down to investigate. On the one hand, he knew James wasn't in a great mood and probably didn't want to talk, but on the other, Peter didn't want him to be alone when he was upset like this--especially since it was Peter’s fault.

There was a grumbled curse from below him, followed by a clunk. Knowing he couldn't hide up there all day, he braced himself for whatever might happen and made his way down the stairs. 

The sight that greeted him set him on edge. Even though he knew James wouldn’t hurt him, it didn't make him look any less intimidating as he stalked around the darkened room, hitting and kicking anything unlucky enough to be in his way. 

Even though he was trying to be quiet, Peter failed to notice the crushed water bottle on the floor until he stepped on it, making a loud crunch. James’ head snapped to the side, and he glared at Peter before growling and walking off to punch a filing cabinet.

Peter licked his lips, drawing the bottom one between his teeth to worry as he watched James destroy the room. He was more agitated than Peter had seen him in a while, maybe ever. He really hoped Steve and Tony weren't able to track him. James wasn't ready for any company yet. He had a feeling if Steve tried talking to him now, another fight would break out, and it would end a lot worse.

"I'm really sorry," Peter said, trying to keep his shoulders turned in and body language non-threatening. "I mean, you looked like his friend, the one in the picture he showed me, but it didn't seem possible. I wasn’t really expecting this. I'm sorry."

James paused in his pacing but kept his head down, a curtain of hair hiding his face. His metal hand clenched into a fist as he rolled his shoulders. "I'm dangerous. You shouldn't be here."

"Didn't you hear me? I'm sorry."

James turned, picking up his head, so Peter could meet his gaze. His eyes weren't hard with anger like Peter thought they would be. Instead, they were pleading, full of sadness and pain. "I don't know who I am anymore, but I know the things I've done. Steve should remember me how I was. The guy he knew is dead."

Peter mulled that over, taking a seat on the rickety stairs. He propped his chin up with his palm. “So, you really do know Steve?”

James made a pained sound and kicked a metal wastebasket. It sailed through the air and left a dent in the far wall. Peter grimaced but stayed quiet as the older man—much older, apparently—paced.

"Sorry, I'm really not trying to upset you,” Peter said. “I'm just trying to understand."

James shook his head. "Stop saying you're sorry. I'm not mad at you."

Peter pursed his lips in thought. "Was Steve the kid you used to take care of?"

James sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "Yeah, damn punk was always getting in fights with guys bigger than him." He gave Peter a pointed look. "Kinda like some other punk that I know."

The corner of Peter's mouth tugged up, and he shook his head. "Only when they deserve it."

"You two must be best buds," James said, seeming to relax a little. 

Peter shrugged. "We're better than we were. At first, I thought he was kinda a jerk."

James snorted. "From what I remember, he had that effect on people."

Peter smirked, a small laugh escaping him. He relaxed, letting some of the tension leave his body as he watched James begin to calm. The man’s pacing had slowed, and he wasn’t flexing his muscles anymore, or kicking furniture, which Peter took as a win. 

Lifting his chin, Peter caught his gaze. "I know this is all pretty messed up, but I don't think Steve would care if you've changed. I just think he'd be glad to have you back." 

James sighed heavily and gave him a sad, pitying look. “Not the way I am. Steve’ll want the old Bucky, and I’m … I'm …” he trailed off and shook his head. 

Peter could see the pain in his expression, in the tightness around his eyes, and how he pressed his lips together until the color was gone. He wished he could convince him to come back to the tower, to meet with Steve, but he knew this was going to take time. 

Something big had happened to his friend, that much was clear. He guarded his secrets more than Peter guarded his own. His metal arm, the scars Peter had seen, the fact that he was still alive seventy years from when he supposedly died, all those reasons and more hinted at something painful being done to him. Peter just didn't know what.

Peter watched in silence as James collapsed into the metal chair by the wall, his head held in his hands, his chest heaving. If he didn't know better, he'd think the man was crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh poor bucky!! And poor Tony!! The man is probably out of his mind with worry. What am I doing to these characters!?!?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank erica45 for her amazing support and help. It's been a busy week but I wanted to get a chapter out there, so here you go. Enjoy!

Peter found a spot on the floor to sleep, curling up on some old newspapers and resting his head on his arms. Without his watch, he couldn't tell what time it was, but he knew it must be getting late. The sunlight that had been seeping through the boarded windows was gone, replaced by the faint glow of streetlights. 

James was in the other room, Peter could hear him moving around, but he kept his distance, knowing the man needed space. 

After their talk earlier, James had shut down, withdrawing into himself. Peter had tried talking to him, nudging him into a conversation, but he met a wall of silence, and if there was something Peter had learned about the man, it was that you couldn't make him do something he didn't want to do. He was as stubborn as they came.

As he lay there, he thought over what to do next. He knew he should go back to the tower, Tony was probably losing his mind, but he didn't think he should leave James just yet. He wanted to make sure he was okay before he left. It wasn't like it was a big deal to spend the night on the streets, he'd done it before, and as far as places to crash went, the building they were holding up in wasn't so bad.

Without a way to measure it, time seemed to stretch on through the night. Try as he might, Peter couldn't relax, the sounds of the city too near to block out. He'd forgotten what it was like to sleep so close to the busy streets. Being in the tower, he'd been above it all; the building was soundproofed—even to his ears. 

Rolling onto his side, he drew his knees to his chest, the newspaper rustling and crinkling beneath him, making him wish for his bed. It wasn't cold, but it was cool enough he hoped for a blanket. He was always sensitive to the cold—more so since the bite. 

There was a dull ache in his chest. He missed being home. It wasn't until laying on the unforgiving floor, feeling homesick, that he realized how much his life had changed, how much he had changed. He didn't want to be alone anymore. He wanted to go home.

Peter watched the edge of the window as the light began to change, shifting from the artificial glow to a cleaner, sharper light. The sun was rising. 

Yawning, he rubbed at his tired and gritty eyes. He hadn't slept at all, and from the noises he'd heard from the other room, James hadn't either. 

His stomach growled as he pushed himself to his feet. Dusting off his hands on his jeans, he walked into the adjoining room where James had spent the night. Peter found him sitting on the floor, back against the wall. His knees were drawn up, his head hung, and his arms rested on his knees. James didn't move when he approached, but Peter knew he wasn't sleeping. There was an aura of awareness and danger around him. 

Peter cleared his throat. "Morning."

A few beats passed, and James remained silent. Peter rubbed at the back of his neck, nose scrunching as he considered his options. He knew James could take care of himself, even like this, but he wanted to help him.

"So," Peter began, "I know you're probably still a little freaked out, and I don't blame you, but maybe it'd help if we talked it through—if you wanted, I mean."

Peter dropped the hand from his neck and bit at his lip, watching for any sign of acknowledgment. Peter was about to give up hope when James lifted his head, his hair falling away from his face. There was a touch of red to his eyes, and dark circles had formed beneath them. Peter didn't like seeing him look so broken.

James blinked, staring at Peter. "I can't go back."

Peter had no idea where 'back' was, but it was clear it played a big part in what had happened to him. James needed to know that he would never make him go back there, wherever there was.

"No one is gonna make you do anything—go anywhere. You don't ever have to go back."

James pressed his lips together and studied Peter for a moment, his eyes boring through him. Seeming to find the answer to whatever question he had, he nodded and looked away. "You said you found people—people who can look after you?"

"Yeah, they're really great—even Steve's not so bad, but yeah, they're good to me. They'd be good to you, too."

James shook his head. "If they're smart, they'd just kill me. Somethings aren't worth saving."

Peter frowned. "You're not a thing. You're a person."

The man sighed, looking up to Peter. "You should go. They're probably worried about you."

"You can't just kick me out. I'll stay if I want to, and you're not a thing—not to me and not to Steve." Peter paused, pressing his lips, looking to the floor, and then back to James. "Come with me, come back to the tower."

"No."

"Why not?"

James’ brow furrowed. "Why can't you just drop it?"

Peter narrowed his eyes. "Because even if you don't want to believe it, you’re my friend, and I care about what happens to you."

James pursed his lips, watching the window for a moment before looking back to Peter. "You're … you're my friend, too. That's why you should go back. They can watch out for you better than I can."

"What are you so afraid of?" Peter asked.

"There are people out there, people looking for me. I'd rather die than go back with them."

Peter tossed up his hand. "Then just come back with me! We can help you."

"It's better this way. Now get the hell out of here before I make you."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Peter huffed. "Then I guess you'll have to make me."

James groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm not gonna fight ya, kid, but please, if you give a damn at all, go." He dropped his hand, eyes locking on Peter's.

Peter held his gaze for as long as he could before looking away, the pain in James’ eyes too much to bear. "Fine," he breathed. "Just promise me that if you need help, you'll come find me."

"You got my word."

"Where is he?" Tony growled, stalking toward Steve and shoving a hand against his chest.

There were bruises on the man's face, and the worse case scenarios were already chasing through Tony's mind.

Steve put up his hands, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Tony. I had no idea he'd take off."

"Where is my kid, Rogers?"

Steve closed his eyes, letting out a breath. "I don't know," he whispered, opening his eyes to look at Tony. "We were just going to—we were only going to check something out. Things got out of hand."

Tony jabbed a finger into Steve's chest. "Explain. Now."

"Okay," Steve said, stepping back, "but you might not believe me."

Tony narrowed his eyes, not in the mood for games. His kid was missing and had been for nearly eight hours, and this was the first he heard of it. He thought Steve had taken Peter to see a movie and grab dinner—bonding or some shit. It had seemed like a good idea for them to spend some time together, but now Steve was home, sans kid, with his face beaten to a pulp. Something had gone seriously wrong, and he needed to find out what. 

"Rogers, you have three seconds to start talking."

"Right." Steve cleared his throat. "So, yesterday, I was looking at some old photos with Peter."

Tony gestured with his hand for him to hurry up. "Get to the point."

"I showed him a picture of Bucky." The lines around Steve's eyes tightened. "It shouldn't have been a big deal, but, Tony, he _knew_ him. Peter said he'd met him—that Bucky had looked after him."

Tony had been expecting a lot of things, maybe that Peter had gone take off to stop an arms deal, but this, he had nothing. _"What?"_

"I know it sounds crazy, but I saw him, Tony. That's where we went today. Peter took me to him."

"Say I believe you, the bruises on your face are telling me that you're still leaving out some pretty important details."

Steve's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously. "It was Bucky, I'm sure of it, but he was so lost." He looked away, his face pinching. "He attacked me. It wasn't his fault, though. I'm pretty sure he thought he was seeing a ghost."

"And Peter?"

Steve licked his lips, gaze flicking to the floor before coming back to meet Tony's. "Bucky realized it was me and stopped, but he ran. Peter went after him."

Tony had a thousand questions, but they could wait. His kid was somewhere in the city with someone who should be dead, someone that seemed unstable at best, and he had no way of finding him, checking his tracker had been the first thing he'd done when he'd realized Peter was missing. The watch had been abandoned.

"Christ," Tony swore, running his fingers through his hair. He looked to Steve, eyes narrowing. "If anything happens to him."

"I know," Steve said with a sigh. "I know, but he's a tough kid. He can take care of himself."

"But he shouldn't have to. We're supposed to be there for him." 

Steve's expression softened. "He'll be okay. I don't think he's in danger."

Tony drew a breath, trying to steady his nerves. "Go find the others. I want them up here in ten and to be on the streets in twenty."

They assembled, but despite their efforts, they couldn't find him. Peter had been cautious and avoided cameras when he ran. They lost his trail within two blocks of where his watch was tossed, and short of searching every corner of the city, there wasn't much hope of finding him before morning.

It was well after midnight when Pepper called him for the third time, asking him to come home. 

"You should all come back and get some sleep," she said. "You can start fresh tomorrow."

He didn’t like it. He hated leaving his kid on the streets. He’d promised himself that Peter would never have to experience that again, but his promise had fallen through.

Landing on the tower balcony, he grudgingly accepted that he was going to have to wait until the morning to start his search again, but at least he could have Friday keep an eye on the cameras around the city just in case Peter passed by one. 

Knowing Pepper was waiting for him, he made his way to their suite. When he stepped out of the elevator, he saw Pepper waiting. She wore silk pajamas, a sad smile touching her face

"Come here," she said, holding her arms open.

He didn't hesitate, falling into her arms and letting her pull him close. 

She pressed her lips to his hair, murmuring reassurances. "He's okay, Tony. He's gonna come home."

He rested his head on her shoulder, nuzzling into her neck, breathing in her familiar scent. "He shouldn't be out there."

She hummed in agreement and kissed his cheek. "You should rest, working yourself to death won’t help him.”

He sighed and leaned against her, nodding mutely. Without saying another word, she drew him to their room where they got ready for the night and settled into bed. 

As he rested beside his wife, something clutched at his heart. It was warm in the tower, but the night air was crisp. Peter got chilled so easily, always wearing hoodies to stave off the cold. He hoped Peter was warm enough wherever he was—he hoped he was okay.

As he drifted off to sleep, Tony thought about making a heated sweater for him. Maybe it could be a birthday present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry Bucky is being such a sad murder muffin. Things will get better. I think. Eventually. Lol.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't think I was gonna get this chapter done today, but yay for small miracles. I somehow found the words and put them in some type of order--I just hope it's the right order. 
> 
> Thanks to Erica45 for being my support and sorry in advance for typos and stuff. I totally write on my phone at weird hours and autocorrect can be a total bitch.

Peter jogged up to the entrance of the tower, shouldering his way past the people on the busy sidewalk. The relief that settled over him as he stood at the foot of the building was palpable. It felt good to be home. He just hoped that he hadn't done too much damage by taking off as he had. The last thing he wanted was to hurt Tony or Pepper.

Walking into the lobby, he got a curious glance from one of the guards. Peter swallowed, giving a nod of acknowledgment. 

The man touched his ear, speaking softly, and a moment later, Friday spoke, "Welcome home, Peter."

 _Home_. 

The concept was still so foreign to him. It almost didn't seem real. He couldn't believe the changes in his life.

Wanting to get back to Tony and Pepper, he began to walk toward the elevators, but before he could cross the lobby, he saw Pepper charging toward him.

"Oh my god, Peter!" she said, closing the distance with purposeful strides, her heels clicking across the marble floor. 

Peter ducked his head, looking up through his lashes as he rubbed his neck. "Uh … sorry?"

Pepper didn't stop to reprimand him as he'd expected. Instead, she paused in front of him, and without another word, pulled him into a hug. One of her hands slid up to cup the back of his head, fingers knotting in his hair. She rested her cheek on the top of his head and just held him. Peter could feel a slight tremor in her hands.

At first, the closeness made him tense, but after a moment, he let himself relax into her arms. He realized that she needed this just as much as he did.

She breathed him in before pressing a kiss to his hair and drawing back, the hand that was cupping his head falling to his shoulder. Her gaze flitted over him. "Don't you ever do that again."

Peter nodded. "I'm sorry."

Pepper pressed her lips together, seeming to contemplate his answer before her expression softened. "Let's get you upstairs. When was the last time you ate?"

He shrugged a shoulder. "Yesterday, I think."

She hummed as she guided him toward the private elevator. "Let's get you some food then."

Once they were in the elevator, Pepper asked Friday to bring them to the penthouse. She kept a hand on his back during the ride, the small gesturing keeping him grounded.

When the doors opened, she steered him to the center island, nodding to one of the stools. "What would you like? I'm not as talented as Bruce in the kitchen, but I'm better than Tony."

He climbed onto one of the stools, shrugging a shoulder. "You don't need to cook. I can just eat an apple or something."

Pepper shook her head, sighing as she pulled open the fridge and looked around. 

"Ah-ha, perfect," she said, grabbing something and then turning around. 

She held out a plate with a sandwich on it, wrapped in plastic wrap. 

Peter lifted a brow at the sad excuse for a sandwich. It looked like it might be tuna, but he wasn't entirely sure. He eyed it warily. "Is that safe to eat?"

"I made it for Tony earlier," she said, "but he was too stressed to eat. I'm honestly surprised Clint or Steve didn't eat it already. They love my tuna salad."

That really didn't reassure him as both Clint and Steve would eat nearly anything put in front of them.

She unwrapped the plate and set it in front of him. "Try to eat. I'm sure Tony will be back any minute, and he's probably going to have a lot to say."

Peter winced, ducking his head as he picked up one of the triangles, taking a bit. He was pleasantly surprised to find that it tasted pretty good. It only took swallowing the first bite for his stomach to demand more. He hadn't realized how hungry he was. 

Pepper set a glass of milk in front of him, and he mumbled his thanks as he started on the second half.

"I guess you were hungry," she commented dryly, her lips twitching into a soft smile. 

Peter blushed, looking down at the plate. "Yeah, I forgot what it was like to go without. I don't know how I used to do it," he admitted, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck.

Her expression warmed further, and she tucked a stray hair behind his ear. "Well, thankfully, you don't need to do it again." 

He picked the last few crumbs off the plate and popped them in his mouth, avoiding her gaze. "I really am sorry."

"I know," she said, taking the plate and putting it in the dishwasher. "You aren't in trouble."

Following her movements with his eyes, he laced his fingers together, squeezing tightly. “I’m not?”

Closing the dishwasher’s door, Pepper tilted her head. Settling across from him, she leaned on the counter and cupped his hands with hers. “I’m not mad at you. You were doing what you thought was right.”

Peter frowned at her, and she elaborated. “Steve explained what you two were doing, and if you’re right—it could really change things for Steve. I respect what you were trying to do— even if it did cause a lot of worry.”

Peter winced. “Will he be mad?” he asked timidly, his eyes flicking up to hers, fighting to keep them from misting. He wasn’t going to cry. 

Pepper hesitated for a moment, and his heart clenched. She drew a breath, frowning slightly. “No, he won’t be. It might seem like it, but he’s not angry—he’s worried.”

Peter didn’t know if that was better or worse. He remembered what Bruce had told him before about Tony lashing out when he was scared or worried. Peter could kind of understand. He did the same thing sometimes.

Like Tony had planned it, the elevator to their floor opened, and the man came walking out, his appearance more unkempt than Peter could remember seeing before. It looked like he hadn't shaved that morning and had thrown on the first pair of jeans and t-shirt he'd found. 

Pepper walked around the island to greet him, but he sidestepped her, his gaze locked on Peter. The intensity made Peter feel about an inch tall. He could see the disappointment and anger in Tony's eyes, and Peter found himself shrinking back.

Pepper tugged Tony's arm, trying to gain his attention. "Deep breaths. He's fine now. He's home."

Tony licked his lips, looking away from Peter to give Pepper a nod. "I'm okay."

The seemed to have a silent conversation that ended with Pepper nodding and giving Tony a peck on the check. 

"You got this," she said to Tony, leveling him with her gaze.

Tony gave another quick nod. "I got this."

She rubbed Tony's arm and nodded to Peter. "I've got a few emails to deal with. I won't be far."

And with that, she turned to leave the room. 

Peter's stomach sank as he watched her go. She was like a security blanket to him, a buffer between him and Tony. He knew he had a lot to account for, but that didn't mean he was ready to face the music. 

Once Pepper disappeared around the corner, Peter looked back to Tony, only to find the man glaring daggers at him. 

Peter shifted in his seat, turning his shoulders inward and ducking his head.

Keeping his eyes down, Peter waited for Tony to begin his lecture, but none came. The silence seemed worse than any berating he could get. Without his permission, a tear slipped from his eye and dropped onto his knee. His lip trembled.

A second later, he heard Tony curse under his breath, and then strong arms were wrapped around him. Peter let himself be pulled into the hug. He buried his face in the crook of Tony's neck, hot tears wetting his cheeks. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to make everyone worry."

He felt Tony's chest expand as he took a deep breath, the man's arms tightening their hold on him. He spoke into Peter's hair. "You scared the shit out of me. I had no way of finding you."

"I know," Peter said, still clutching onto Tony like a lifeline. "I just—I was just trying to do the right thing."

Tony hummed. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't upset, _because I am_ , but I'm willing to listen to your side of things."

Peter sniffled, drawing back. Tony let him go but kept a hand on his shoulder, eyeing him carefully.

Nodding, Peter swallowed, wiping the tears from his eyes. "Thanks, can we go sit somewhere more comfortable?"

"Of course," Tony said, moving to the side and gesturing to the living room.

Peter settled on the couch, and Tony took the chair opposite him. 

"So," Tony began, "you're friends with more than one spry centenarian, I hear."

Peter scrunched his nose. "Maybe?"

Tony scratched at the shadow of the beard on his face. "Steve seems pretty sure this guy is his friend Bucky."

Chewing his lip, Peter looked down at his hands that were clasped in his lap. "Yeah, that's probably because it is, but I know him as James—not really sure what he prefers to be called honestly."

"Why didn't you tell me about him before?"

Peter glanced up, seeing the edges of hurt and disappointment on Tony's face. He winced, knowing that he should have mentioned James before. It just never seemed like a big deal. He wasn't used to sharing every detail of his life—especially the details of his time on the streets. 

"I guess I didn't think it was important. I thought he was a regular guy—more or less. I mean, looking back now, a few things stick out as odd, but he looked out for me. He was nice."

Tony raised a brow. "What things?"

Shrugging, Peter chewed his bottom lip for a moment. "Like he was kinda twitchy, but in a good way?"

"Is that a question? How can you be twitchy in a good way?"

Peter's mouth twisted as he considered his answer, not sure the best way to explain his relationship with James. "Well, I mean, the first time I met him, he did technically shoot someone for me."

" _He_ _what_?"

Wincing at Tony's tone, Peter continued, "It was only in the foot, and in his defense, the other guy was planning on stabbing me."

Tony groaned, raking a hand over his face. "Kid, seriously, I'm concerned for your welfare. I swear you walk around with a target on your back."

"Sorry?"

Tony shook his head. "That sounded so apologetic, so is there anything else I should know about this guy? Now's a good time to share."

"Not really, he was always pretty cool. We watched out for each other." Peter shrugged. "Oh, and he has a metal arm."

"Wait, come again? A metal what?"

Peter waved his left arm in the air as if to demonstrate. "His arm, it's like robotic, I guess? I don't know much about it—didn't seem like something he wanted to talk about."

"Right, so your first instinct after meeting a cyborg with a penchant for shooting people is to become BFF's?" Tony sighed. "Honestly, I'm really starting to wonder how you've survived this long."

Friday's voice interrupted. "Excuse me, boss, but Agent Romanoff, Captain Rogers, Agent Barton, and Doctor Banner are on their way up."

Peter sank back into the cushions with a sigh. 

"Sorry, kiddo. They probably just want to make sure you're okay—same as me and Pep."

He picked at a loose thread on his sleeve. "Steve's gonna make a face."

Tony chuckled. "You're probably not far off there. I'm sure you'll be getting a lecture right along with the 'I'm disappointed in you’ face."

The sound of the elevator doors opening made Peter cringe, the hushed whispers of the team cutting off when Tony stood, hands going in his pockets. "Welcome, you all look more miserable than usual."

"You don't know the half of it," Clint said. 

Tony gestured to couches and chairs. "Let's get comfy—looks like we have things to talk about."

Peter gnawed on his lip, his hands sweaty. Motion caught his eye, and he flicked his gaze to the side to see Steve, followed by the rest of the Avengers, taking seats around the room.

Natasha nodded to Peter from her perch on the arm of the couch before her gaze slipped to Tony. There was tension to her features, lines forming between her brows, the corners of her mouth tugging downward. "We need to talk," she said.

Steve's head snapped up, his eyes hardening. "We already talked about this. He's not a threat."

Peter's gaze flicked between the two of them, taking in their changing body language. Steve was drawing himself up, his shoulders back and chin rising in a challenge. Natasha's head just tilted to the side, her lips pursing as she watched Steve. 

Tony cleared his throat, leaving over the chair Clint was sitting in, a hand resting on either side of the backrest. "Did you guys have a super-secret squirrel meeting without me?"

Clint huffed. "More like a super-secret screaming match."

"Clint," Bruce chided. "I think you've made your opinion clear earlier."

The archer's eyes narrowed. "And maybe Cap needs to get his head out of his ass."

Bruce looked down, averting his gaze. "Maybe we could all use a breather."

Peter sat in shock, watching the heroes argue. He'd expected them to lecture him, not tear into each other. Clearly, something bigger was going on. 

"Bucky isn't a killer," Steve said, pushing himself to his feet and walking to the window as he raked his fingers through his hair. 

"Whoa," Tony said, moving around the chair to face the group. "What am I missing here?"

Steve shook his head as he turned to face the room. "Nat's wrong. He's not who she says he is—James _is_ Bucky."

Natasha sighed. "I never said James _wasn't_ Bucky. I just said no matter what you call him, that man out there, he's dangerous."

Tony straightened. "Who is he?"

Clint glanced at Natasha. They shared a silent conversation before she nodded, and he spoke, "He's not just Steve's long lost friend. He's the Winter Soldier. He put a bullet through Natasha just to get to his target. He's a killer."

Peter set his jaw, defensive anger washing over him. Shaking his head, he spoke, "Maybe he used to be this winter guy, but James—he doesn't hurt people. I don't believe you."

"Peter," Tony tried.

Pushing himself to his feet, Peter glanced around the room, taking in the varying expressions of the Avengers. Steve's, in particular, struck him hard. The man's eyes said it all—hope, loss, sadness, a myriad of emotions. It set his resolve even more.

"James— _Bucky_ ," Peter corrected himself. "He needs our help. I don't know what's happened to him or what he did, but I know he's scared and wants to be better. If you don't trust him, trust me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wtf, Clint? Why are you being mean about my murder muffin? For better or worse, Bucky will be getting some more story time soon.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to get this done yesterday but it refused to cooperate, so I decided to delete a chunk and start again. Hopefully you like.

A few uneventful weeks passed that Peter spent trying to catch up on schoolwork, so he'd be able to pick back up where he left off. It was nearly August, and there were only a few more weeks before school would be back in session.

Pepper had apparently contacted the school and made arrangements. If he jumped through their hoops and did the assignments, he would be able to rejoin his class. The idea that he could see his old friends, be normal again, gave him all the incentive he needed to stay focused.

Despite trying to keep his attention on schoolwork, he couldn't shake what had happened with James—or was it Bucky? He didn't know what to call him anymore. Peter didn't know him as Bucky, Steve's friend, and he didn't know him as the Winter Soldier like Natasha and Clint, to Peter, he was just James. The name was simple and fit. He supposed until he could ask James himself what he preferred, he'd stick with what he knew.

The only people who seemed concerned for James’ welfare were him and Steve. The others thought he was dangerous. Clint bristled anytime someone mentioned James, and Natasha appeared to get a particular look about her when the subject came up. 

One night when Peter was coming home from patrol, he'd overheard Natasha and Clint talking about a place called the Red Room and someone named Yasha. And even though they'd been speaking in hushed tones, Peter had still been able to pick up the distress in Natasha's voice. It was the first time he'd ever heard her sound vulnerable. Peter had a feeling that their conversation was somehow connected to James—he just didn't know how.

As for Steve, he hadn't been in the tower much. He never said where he was going, but they all knew he was looking for James. There had been a few days where he never came home at all. He'd cornered Peter a few times, pressing him for information about the places he'd stayed, but Peter kept his mouth shut. He'd betrayed James once. He didn't want to do it again—no matter how much he'd like to help Steve. He knew that James needed time and would reach out when he was ready. At least Peter hoped he would.

Closing his laptop, Peter leaned back in his chair and scrubbed his hands over his face. He had the beginnings of a headache from staring at the screen for so long. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was barely past noon. It felt a lot later. The day was really dragging. 

Stretching his arms over his head, he rolled his shoulders. "Friday, can you let Tony know I'm going on patrol?"

"Of course, Peter."

Pushing himself from his chair, he went to his closet and got his suit, tossing it on the bed as he began to strip.

Friday's voice interrupted him. "Boss would like to remind you to eat before you go or grab some money on your way out—also, his earlier order still stands. You are not to go looking for Sergeant Barnes." 

Peter rolled his eyes as he pressed the spider emblem on his suit, causing it to tighten around him. "Let him know I'll be back by midnight."

He grabbed some cash from the pocket of his discarded jeans and snatched his mask from the bed. Tugging it on, Peter made his way to the doors of Tony's landing pad. Slipping outside, he looked over the skyline and then crawled out onto the glass. Tony hated it when he left the building from there, but Peter liked the rush of being up so high.

"Hey, Karen, anything interesting going on?" Peter asked as he dropped down from a web and shot out another.

The map on his display rotated, a red dot appearing over a cluster of buildings in Brooklyn. "There's been a spike in petty crime in this area over the last week. I'm sure your presence would go a long way to deter some of that activity."

Peter hummed in agreement. "Sounds good to me."

It was actually the perfect area to patrol. Karen didn't know that James frequented that neighborhood. Keeping his eye out for the man while patrolling didn't really count as breaking the rules—at least he didn't think it did. It wasn't like he was going out of his way looking. He was still respecting Tony's wishes.

He webbed his way through the city, across the river, and into Brooklyn. Karen had the display locked on Bed Stuy, but he had plans to also visit Prospect Park, a place James enjoyed. Because for as grumpy as James was, he liked to feed the ducks. When Peter had asked why, James had said because they were neat—whatever that meant.

Knowing Karen would tattle if he didn't stop for lunch, he took a detour to a local shop and grabbed a sandwich, finding a place to perch, so he could eat. 

Taking a bite of his sandwich, he decided he would patrol the area Karen suggested for a few hours and then casually make his way to the park. He wasn't sure what he'd do if he actually found James, but he figured he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. 

James not knowing he was Spider-Man could make bumping into on patrol awkward, but Peter had hoped the man wouldn't shoot him—even though his trigger finger never failed to be twitchy. 

With his lunch finished and trash disposed of, Peter swung to the area that was highlighted on the map. He spent a few hours patrolling the neighborhood, stopping a few bike thefts and mugging, making sure word got out that Spider-Man was around. He knew his name didn't exactly instill fear in the hearts of criminals, but maybe it would at least make them less stabby while he was there. 

When the sun started to get lower in the sky, he decided it was time to head toward the park. It didn't take long to get there, the two areas not far apart. 

He awkwardly ducked his head and waved at a few teenagers as he jogged through the entrance. They gave him an odd look but continued talking about themselves. He knew he probably looked a bit ridiculous walking along the path like he was out for an evening stroll. 

He spent over an hour searching the park for signs of his grumpy associate but came up short. To say he was disappointed would be an understatement. He'd really hoped to find him on his favorite bench, glaring his best glare at the pigeons he disliked so much. James had explained after the 'ducks are neat' conversation that pigeons were not—according to James, they were the equivalent to flying rats and tasted awful. Peter didn't question him. 

"Hey, Karen, hypothetically speaking," Peter said as he left the park, "if someone was supposed to avoid another someone, but say they accidentally bumped into said someone, would you tell on them?"

There was a moment's pause before Karen spoke, "Do you intend on accidentally bumping into Sergeant Barnes? Because intent would imply that it wasn't an accident, Peter."

Landing on a streetlight, he considered her reply. “But I'm not looking for him,” he said. “I’m patrolling, but if I _were_ to run into said person, would that be my fault?”

A few seconds passed in silence before Karen answered, “If you did find the man that you are _not_ looking for, then it would be a moment of chance and not your fault."

Peter couldn't help the satisfied smile at her response. "Thanks, Karen. I knew I could count on you."

The rest of the night was quiet. He kept to the Brooklyn area, secretly hoping to bump into James but knowing it wasn't likely. 

Over the next few hours, he managed to interrupt a drug deal, almost get a little stabbed, and then walk a girl home after he saw some guys following her. All in all, he was pretty satisfied with his night.

Things began to quiet down, and soon he was sitting bored on the ledge of a building. He considered staying out a little longer but decided to call it an early night. He could use some extra sleep, and he knew Tony worried when he stayed out late, even though they agreed he could.

It didn't take long to make it back to the tower. Peter climbed up the side of the building instead of using the elevator. He always felt weird using the main entrance in his suit. Slipping inside, he tugged off his mask and ruffled his hair. It felt good to be home.

The sound of footsteps made him turn his head, and he saw Pepper stepping out of the hall into the open living space. She was in her pajamas, her hair pulled up in a ponytail. A smile spread across her face when she noticed him.

"You're early," she said. "Friday said you'd be out until midnight. Everything alright?"

Peter's brows pulled together as he gave a quick nod. "Yeah, things are great. It was actually pretty quiet out there tonight."

Pepper walked over to him, her nose scrunching as she looked him over. "Why don't you go take a shower and get changed."

The corner of Peter's mouth twitched up. "Are you trying to politely say I smell?"

He could see her struggling not to smile. 

"Possibly, now go get cleaned up." She swatted his arm as she broke into a laugh.

"Yes, mom," he teased, smile faltering after he realized the implication of his words. He dropped his gaze, his heart knocking against his ribs. "I should go."

Pepper reached for his hand, fingers brushing over it as he pulled away. "Hey, look at me," she said.

She reached for him again, but he shook his head, bolting down the hall. 

Bucky vaulted over the railing of the staircase, landing in a crouch on the concrete, his eyes searching wildly for the Hydra agents on his tail. The subway station was empty, and he could almost hear his own breath echoing in the vacant space.

He'd managed to kill three of the agents, but there were probably more close behind. His ammo was low and had taken a shot to his stomach. He knew stomach wounds were nothing to be messed with, but he didn't have time to stop to look at it. The bleeding had slowed a little, but the pain was still there. It felt like a hot poker was stabbing him in the gut. 

If he was honest, he was a little surprised they shot him. Hydra didn't want him dead—they wanted him alive, so they could wipe him again and put him back in service. In the past, they'd used non-lethal methods to subdue him. He figured they must be getting desperate to try shooting him.

Clutching a hand to the wound, he staggered toward the wall. Maybe it was the blood loss, but he was feeling woozy. It was a little hard to think, and he didn't like it. He needed to be sharp. He'd gotten away before only to be recaptured—he wasn't going to let that happen again.

The sounds of a train approaching made him breathe a sigh of relief. He tried to straighten and walk toward the platform but ended up nearly tripping over his feet. He managed to keep himself upright as it slowed to a stop. A few people exited the train, some noticing the blood on his clothes and giving him a wide berth. He managed to get himself inside, slumping into a seat. The rest of the car was empty, so he let himself relax a little.

Lifting his hand, he looked at the blood covering his fingers, wincing at the mess. He needed supplies. He needed a doctor. The location was bad, and he was still losing blood. Bastardized serum or not, infection was a real risk. He pressed his hand back to the wound, hissing at the stab of pain.

Shaking his head, he squeezed his eyes shut, cursing under his breath. If he wanted to live, there was only one place he could go, one person he could trust. He knew it was risky, but he'd made a promise to the kid. He was in no shape to keep running. 

He really hoped Peter's new friends weren't the shoot first type because he didn't have a phone to call ahead, and he was on the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now what I really meant in the author's note at the start was that the family time I originally wrote for the second half gave me a toothache so I remedied it by shooting Bucky. You're welcome :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Many of you know I have bipolar and there are times it just kicks my ass. Good news, I think I'm bouncing back. This chapter was written in a half depressed, half-sleep deprived state. No beta on this so be ready to duck and dodge mistakes. Thanks -- snarks

Peter's hand trembled as he ran his fingers through his hair, his back pressed against his bedroom door. He was angry at himself for getting emotional and running from Pepper—especially after seeing her hurt expression.  

Releasing a shaky breath, he dropped his shoulders, letting his hand fall from his hair. His head thumped against the door. 

It had been a slow process, but he'd begun to accept Pepper and Tony as family. It wasn't easy, though. Some days things clicked, and Peter felt like he was truly home, but others, he would panic and freak at the oddest things—like how he'd tucked tail and run when he joked about Pepper being his mom.  

If he were honest with himself, he'd have to admit he wanted Pepper and Tony to fill the roles of parents—even though it felt like he was betraying the memory of his parents, and of May and Ben, by doing so.

Sighing, he pushed off the door and trudged over to his bed, flopping down dramatically. He still hadn't changed out of his suit. Instead, he chose to lay sprawled on his mattress, staring at the ceiling, letting the regret and shame over the way he'd treated Pepper twist in his stomach.

"Peter," Friday spoke, making his brows pinch as he pushed himself up on his elbows. "Miss Potts has a message for you. She'd like you to know that she'll be in the boss's workshop should you wish to talk."

"Thanks, Friday," Peter said, his lips bending into a frown. "Did she seem upset?"

"She seemed mildly distressed, but at the moment, I can report she is fine."

Peter ran a hand over his mouth, swallowing back the painful lump in his throat. "Thanks, Fri."

Pushing himself from the bed, he dug through his dresser until he found some comfortable sweats and a shirt. The shirt was one of his favorites. Clint had given it to him when they'd stayed on the farm. It was faded purple with a bullseye in the center. It had a few holes and was nearly threadbare, but it was comfortable. 

After he changed, he padded barefoot over to his bed and climbed in, asking Friday to turn off the lights. He usually wouldn't go to bed so early, but he wasn't feeling up to being awake. He just wanted to escape from his thoughts.

His initial attempts at sleep didn't work. Memories of his uncle dying, of losing May, memories of his time in foster care, his worry over James, all flitted through his mind. Time seemed to slow, and the memories clung to him, refusing to let him rest. 

Frustrated, he found himself squeezing his eyes shut and clutching a pillow to his face as he growled in frustration. Maybe there was merit to Tony's idea that he see a counselor. He hated needing help, but the constant onslaught of painful memories was getting to him. 

Eventually, exhaustion got the better of him, and he slipped off to sleep. He wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep when he was awoken by a commotion in the hall. 

Rubbing at his eyes, he checked the time. It was well past two in the morning. His spidey sense wasn't tingling, so he felt comfortable that at least it wasn't life or death, but that didn't make him any less curious.

Creeping across the room, he listened to the voices beyond his door. He could hear Pepper and Tony talking. 

 _"Tony, what is going on? Why are you covered in blood?"_ Pepper asked, a definite edge of panic to her voice. _"Are you hurt?"_

He had no idea what was going on, but it didn't sound good. He began to feel the familiar tendrils of panic slithering through him, twisting and tightening around his chest. He focused on his breathing, trying to stave off the urge to gulp in air. 

 _"It's not mine,"_ Tony said. _"I swear, Pep. I'm okay. It's from that guy I told you about, Bucky, Steve's friend—the guy who helped Peter."_

_"Isn't he the one Clint was worried about? He's an assassin, Tony!"_

Peter heard Tony sigh. _"Yeah, I know, but it's complicated. He really means something to the kid. I couldn't just let him die."_

 _"I don't know what to say, Tony. I really don't."_ There was a pause. _"Is he okay, at least?"_

_"He's stable. We found him in the parking garage slumped against one of the cars. It wasn't pretty."_

_"We need to tell Peter,"_ Pepper said.

Peter didn't know which was more shocking, that James was hurt or that he'd come to the tower for help. 

Whatever had happened must have been bad enough for him to risk exposing himself. The clutches of panic tightened around him as he realized how close he had come to losing another person in his life.

Taking a steadying breath, he grabbed the doorknob and yanked the door open, making both Tony and Pepper turn to look at him. Peter's gaze fell on Tony's hands, and the traces of blood still present on them.

"Peter," Pepper said, eyes full of emotion. "I take it you heard us."

He nodded, fingers twitching at his sides. "What happened to him?"

Tony let out a breath, moving to scratch at his neck but paused, dropping his hand when he saw the blood smeared on his wrist. "He was out cold when he got to him, probably from blood loss. He had a single gunshot wound to the abdomen. From what we gather, he's enhanced, so the odds are good he'll recover."

Peter could feel a slight tremor spreading through him. "I need to see him."

Tony pursed his lips. "You can see him soon. Medical still has him, and then we have some questions for him."

Peter's eyes narrowed, and his brows knit together. James had come to the tower for help, his help, and no one was going to stand in the way. "I need to be there," he said. "He shouldn't be alone."

Tony put his hands on his hips. "He won't be. Steve's already waiting in recovery for him."

Peter shook his head. "I know Steve means well, but James isn't … he isn't ready for that yet. I should be there."

Tony squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath before looking to Peter. "There's no budging you on this, is there?"

Peter shook his head. 

"Fine," Tony said, tossing a hand up in defeat, "but you should know, after what Clint and Natasha were able to dig up, we all agreed it would be best to keep him restrained—just in case."

Peter's face twisted into a scowl. "You can't—he's not a bad guy! He came here for help!"

Pepper sighed, a frown touching her face. "It's just a precaution. No one is going to hurt him." She looked at Tony. "Isn't that right?"

Tony gave a quick nod. "Absolutely, this is just a precaution—nothing against him, okay? We've just got some unanswered questions."

Peter swallowed, considering their words. He didn't like it, but there wasn't much he could do about it. If there was anything he'd learned, it was to pick your battles. James might be a pseudo prisoner, but he was safe, and Peter was able to see him—not perfect, but things could be worse. 

He knew things didn't look great for James, but he hoped in time he could show them he wasn't the ruthless assassin he was made out to be. At least not anymore. The guy might be a little rough around the edges, but underneath the horde of weapons and grumpy exterior, he was a teddy bear.

"Can I go now?" Peter asked.

Pepper gave him a smile that he was pretty sure was supposed to be reassuring but fell short. "Of course. Tony and I are going to have a quick chat, and then we'll follow."

Peter nodded sharply and stepped around them, heading for the elevator. He slipped inside and asked Friday to take him to the medical floor. 

His mind conjured scenario after scenario of what could have happened to James. He was too smart to get shot by some random mugger. No. Whoever got him, they must have been good. 

Peter tensed as he remembered what James had told him—that there were people after him. Were they the ones who'd shot him? 

The elevator stopped, and the doors opened. Peter stepped out, making a beeline for the recovery suites. Most of the lights were dimmed, only one room was brightly lit, casting a glow into the hall. 

He didn't bother knocking, knowing there were no other patients. As soon as he stepped through the door, his eyes fell on Steve. The man was sitting in one of the chairs by the wall, his arms resting on his knees, eyes cast on the floor. He picked up his head and looked at Peter. The weight of emotion was etched deeply on Steve's face.

"Hey," Steve said, sitting back and scrubbing a hand over his face. 

Peter waved awkwardly. "Hey."

Steve looked defeated as he slumped in the too-small chair. "The nurse said he'd be out soon. They're nearly finished." 

Peter nodded in acknowledgment. "Are you okay?"

Steve glanced up to meet Peter's gaze, his brow wrinkling. "I'm worried. I don't know how he's gonna react to seeing me again."

Peter had considered the same thing. From what he could tell, James wasn't afraid of Steve. He feared for him—the same way he feared for Peter. He didn't want to put anyone in danger. If anything, James was a protector—Peter knew he wasn't a bad guy.

Peter wet his lips. "I talked to him, you know, after I found him. I don't think he ran because he didn't want to be around you."

Steve studied his face. "What do you mean?"

"I think he was scared of not being the guy you remember, scared of letting you down."

"He couldn't let me down."

Peter shrugged, moving to sit in one of the chairs. He kicked his feet out in front of him, crossing them at the ankle. 

Steve huffed a laugh, making Peter look at him with a brow raised in silent question.

Steve tipped his head toward Peter's bare feet. "Forget something?"

Peter wiggled his toes. "Was in a hurry," he said in explanation. "My Aunt May used to say I'd forget my head if it weren't attached."

"It's not easy losing people. I'm sorry you had to learn that first hand," Steve said. "You know if you ever want to talk, I know what it's like—losing people I mean."

Peter forced a smile, keeping his head down. "That's really … I mean, thanks."

They sat in silence for a bit until Peter stood, crossing the room to look through the glass door. "He said people were after him—bad people. He doesn't want to go back."

"Did he say who?"

Peter shook his head. "He got nightmares sometimes. I think they hurt him. I don't think he wanted to kill anyone."

He heard Steve suck in a breath. "Yeah, I don't think so, either."

Distant footsteps made Peter and Steve look toward the door. A moment later, Tony and Pepper walked into the room. Tony had washed and changed, and Pepper had switched into some casual clothes. 

Pepper eyes raked over Peter before she raised a brow. "I would have brought shoes if you asked."

The corners of Peter's mouth twitched up, but the smile didn't form. He'd been doing really well holding it together, but now he was starting to get overwhelmed. 

Pepper seemed to notice, and she closed the distance between them, pulling him into a half hug, pressing a kiss to his hair. 

"You need anything?" she asked.

He shook his head, soaking in the comfort she offered.

Tony cleared his throat, hands stuck in his pockets. "Any word on our guest?"

Steve blinked. "I think he's through the worst of it—should be out soon."

Tony nodded. "I think you know that Clint isn't thrilled about this, and Natasha's being quiet, which is never a good thing, but I'm trying to keep an open mind."

Steve drew a breath, straightening his shoulders. "Thanks, that means a lot."

Tony waved him off. "I'll be honest. I'm partly going along with this just to ruffle Clint's feathers."

The door opened, and a nurse walked in carrying a tablet. She nodded in greeting to them. "Everything went well. He's still out but should wake soon. He's on the way now."

Pepper rubbed Peter's shoulder as she addressed the nurse. "Thank you."

They didn't need to wait long before the door opened and a pale, unconscious James was brought into the room on a stretcher. The staff accompanying him parked the stretcher beside the bed. They unlocked the cuffs on his wrists and then shifted his sleeping form to the larger, more comfortable bed. With a few clicks, his wrists were attached to the side of the bed. Peter wondered how effective the restraints really were. 

As the staff finished up getting him situated, Peter took a moment to look his friend over. His chest was bare, his scars sticking out sharply in the artificial light. Peter cringed when he realized that some of the scars looked like claw marks like he'd tried to tear the metal prosthetic from his shoulder. There was so much Peter didn't know about James and the things he'd been through.

The nurse checked the bandages on his abdomen and did a quick check of the monitors before turning to address Steve. "He should wake up anytime now. Try not to overwhelm him."

The staff cleared out of the room, taking the stretcher with them.

They all stood with their eyes glued to the man on the bed.

Peter was the first to break, moving to stand by the side of the bed, and Steve mirrored him on the other side. Pepper and Tony flanked Peter, each keeping a grounding hand on his back. 

Unsure what to do, Peter settled on gripping the railing of the bed and watching James’ face for signs of waking.

After a few minutes, James began to stir, his face twisting and his arms pulling against the cuffs. 

"Easy, Buck," Steve said. "You're okay. You're safe."

James’ eyes blinked open, and he looked to Steve, his brow furrowing. He jingled the cuff on his wrist. "Afraid I'd run or afraid I'd hurt you?"

"It's not like that," Steve said. "It's just a precaution."

James hummed. "Don't blame you. I'm dangerous." He turned to look at Peter, frowning. "Hey, you okay?"

Peter's brows shot up. "Me? I'm not the one who got shot. What happened?"

James sighed, tugging at the cuffs. "Knowing would put you in danger."

Tony moved his hand from Peter's back, crossing his arms over his chest. "Look, I get the dark and mysterious thing, but the kid's got a legitimate question. We need to know what went down."

The lines of James’ face seemed to tighten. Even with the horrible lighting, he looked menacing. "If I talk, can I lose the cuffs?"

"Yes," Peter said, then turned to Tony. "We will."

"What do you think, Cap?" Tony looked at Steve.

Steve's gaze flicked between James, Peter, and Tony. His brow furrowed, but after a second, he gave a tight nod.

Tony looked up at the ceiling like he was saying a silent prayer before rubbing his eyes. "I'll probably regret this, but fine." He looked at Steve. "Pop the cuffs."

"You sure?" Pepper asked.

Tony shrugged a shoulder. "Am I ever?"

James watched as Steve pulled something small from his pocket. He touched it to the cuffs, making them release. James pulled his hands free, flexing his fingers and wrists. The plates of his metal arm shifted and realigned. 

"So," Tony started, "bondage kinks aside, we should probably introduce ourselves. No doubt you already know me, but I'm Tony Stark, and this lovely lady is Pepper Potts."

James’ mouth twitched. "Yeah, I've heard of you. You can call me James—or Bucky. Don't really care which."

"Good," Tony said. "With that out of the way, let's talk. I'll be honest. I've got some antsy teammates pacing holes in the floor right now because you're here."

James closed his eyes and sucked in a breath before looking down at the gauze covering his stomach and sighing. "I—I don't want to hurt anyone, I won't, but me being here is putting you all in danger."

Steve shifted his weight, his face tight with concern. "You're safe here."

James’ eyes flicked up to Steve, and he grimaced. "You're not, though. I can't stay. The people after me—they won't stop."

"Then we'll stop them," Peter said. 

James turned his head to look at Peter. "You don't know what you're getting into. I never wanted you dragged into this mess."

"Tough." Peter crossed his arms.

James snorted as he shook his head. "You're such a stubborn little shit."

"Bucky," Steve said, "You're not alone in this. Who's after you?"

James pursed his lips. "You're not gonna like it."

"Try me."

James let himself sink back into the pillows. "Hydra."

Peter didn't know a lot about Hydra, just what he'd learned in school, but he did know they were all supposed to be dead.

Steve's brows snapped up, his eyes going wide. _"What?"_

James stared at a point on the wall across from him. He shrugged a shoulder in such a casual way it was ridiculous. "My memories are still a little unreliable, but I know who had me."

"So you really are the Winter Soldier," Tony said.

"I told you I'm dangerous."

"Jesus fuck," Tony cursed. "Things just keep getting better." Tony looked at Peter. "Why couldn't you just bring home a stray cat like a normal kid?"

Steve looked shaken. "It doesn't matter. He's not a killer. We need to help him."

"And how do you know this isn't some ploy to get behind our defenses?" Tony said.

"Because I'm a good judge of character—and so is Peter. You're just gonna have to trust us."

"Tony," Pepper said. "Remember what we talked about earlier."

Bucky tried to push himself up in bed but only managed to shift himself on the pillows. "Tony's right—I've hurt people, killed people."

Shaking his head, Peter frowned. "Did you want to kill those people?"

Peter could see James tense. The man looked away before shaking his head. "No—I don't know. It's not that simple."

"Did they make you do it?" Peter pressed. "Did you get up in the morning and pick who to kill?"

James drew a stuttering breath. His chest heaved in uneven gasps. He shook his head, his metal hand clenching tightly. "I murdered people."

"I don't know what they did to you, but the James I know, he's not so bad. He always looks out for me, covers everything he eats with ketchup, and has weird opinions about pigeons. I feel safer with you around."

James’ eyes closed, and he seemed to be struggling to keep his composure. 

"Pete," Tony said. "It's getting late. What don't you head up to the bed, we can pick back up tomorrow."

"I want to stay here."

Tony leveled his gaze on him. "Don't make me the bad guy here."

Peter was torn between Tony and James. On the one hand, he wanted to respect Tony's wishes, but on the other, he wanted to be there for James. What if he tried to leave while he was still hurt?

"I'll be alright, kid," James said, opening his eyes to look at him. "Probably just gonna catch up on some sleep. You won't be missing much."

Tony nodded. "He's in good hands. I'll even keep our resident spies off this floor."

Turning his gaze to James, Peter frowned. "Okay, but I'll be back in a few hours. You better not leave."

"And pass up free food? Never."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and I hoped you liked. I'll try to get more written soon. It really is a priority for me to work on this. My illness just doesn't always play nice. Thank you again!!! --snarks


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm a procrastinating mess of a human--plus my muse is moodier than me and basically binge eating shit food in the corner and flipping me off everytime I even think of asking for some inspiration. I'd apologize on her behalf but I'm pretty sure she's a cold, heartless bitch that's not sorry at all.

Tony waited until Peter had made it to the elevators, and Friday confirmed he was on the way up to the penthouse before dropping the hand that was rubbing the ache from his forehead and looking at Bucky. 

“Now that Peter’s gone. Let’s talk,” Tony said, hands going to his pockets. “If this were just about me and my choices, you’d have been out the door twenty minutes ago.”

Pepper turned, brows pulled together. “Tony!”

Tony put up a hand, shaking his head. “I said if it was just about me—which it’s not—but after hearing Clint’s take on the matter, and the fact Natasha seems twitchy whenever he’s mentioned, I’m not too excited to have him around my kid.”

Bucky lips thinned out. “I understand.”

“Tony, we can’t just throw him back out there,” Steve objected, standing taller as a disapproving frown pulled at his lips. “Hydra's after him.”

Tony tossed up a hand. “I didn’t say I was doing anything, but even he agrees to stay, he’s still dangerous.”

No matter how much Tony wanted to trust Peter's instincts regarding Bucky, there were still too many unknowns. He didn't want to risk his family.

The danger that Bucky brought was real. Even if the man wasn't dangerous himself, the people after him were. He’d grown up on stories about Hydra and the things they were capable of—Aunt Peggy had told him of her time in the war. He'd seen some of his father's old files, not everything, but enough to get a pretty clear picture. 

If Hydra had somehow survived and created the Winter Soldier, then where were they hiding? Who was financing them and how widespread was the corruption? 

Tony's brain chased thought after thought. He wished he still had his Aunt Peggy to fall back on for help. She'd know what to do. As for now, all he had was SHIELD, and his relationship with the one-eyed pirate wasn't the best. 

The whole situation was a mess. Tony wished he could go back in time and stop Peter from going after Bucky with Steve, but if he did, he'd be ignoring the bigger problem. Hydra was somewhere out there, and they had no idea where and how close it was. 

"I should leave," Bucky said, breaking his thoughts. 

Steve was quick to shut him down. "No, you shouldn't."

Drawing a breath, Tony shook his head. "Just let me think. No one's going anywhere."

Tony took a moment to look at the man, really look at him. The old soldier was slumped in the bed, sweat beading on his brow, and his arm tucked gently around his abdomen, belying how much pain he was in. His eyes were dark and hollow with deep purple bags that reminded Tony of when he’d first met Peter, taking a nap outside his building. 

He was the picture of a man down on hard times, suffering because of things out of his control. If Peter was right, then Bucky was a prisoner of war acting under duress and couldn’t hold any of his actions during that time against him. 

If he turned his back on him, on someone that could really use the help, was that betraying the spirit of what he’d done for Peter?

He knew the answer, maybe he'd known all along, but he'd just needed to accept it. At the base of his being, he was a mechanic, partly because he loved to create, but partially because he couldn't turn away from something in need of fixing. 

The answer was simple. Tony was going to help because it was part of who he was. 

Scratching at his chin, Tony addressed Steve. "He stays between your floor and the communal floor."

Steve seemed to sag with relief. He nodded. "I can do that. Thank you."

Tony turned to look at Bucky, hands going to his pockets. "I'm giving you a chance, _protection_ , not just because Steve and Peter asked, but because it's the decent thing to do."

Bucky blinked at him, his face contorting in a complicated mixture of relief and dread, the latter far outweighing the former.  "I can't—" Bucky started but was cut off.

Tony shook his head. "This isn't just about you. If it's true that Hydra is still out there, we need all the information we can get. This deal for protection comes with a stipulation—you need to supply everything you know so we can prepare."

Bucky's gaze flicked to Steve and then back to Tony, his eyes wary. "Why would you do this for me?"

Tony shrugged a shoulder. "Honestly, I'm not really sure, but for now, let's just go with it."

The last thing Peter wanted to do was sleep. He'd tried getting Friday to tell him what was going on in medbay, but the AI refused. Any amount of weedling and puppy dog eyes were futile. It was a relief James was healing, but Peter didn't like being left out of the discussion. 

A glance at the windows and he could tell morning was creeping up, and he hadn't slept—something that was sure to worry Tony.

He hadn't been sleeping well lately, sleep accompanied by a healthy dose of nightmares. They ranged from watching his uncle die to drowning and waking up choking for air. He was pretty sure Tony knew about them, Friday was always watching, but so far, Tony hadn't confronted Peter about them. 

Rubbing his eyes, he surrendered to a yawn. Maybe he could sleep for a few minutes. He shuffled over to his bed and collapsed into the messy blankets, dragging his pillow under his head. Eyes slipping closed, sleep found him faster than he thought it would.

_Peter's hands were bound, and he couldn't free them. His feet were rooted to the ground. He tried to call for help, but his voice caught in his throat._

_He was standing on the same street that Ben had died on, but instead of his uncle on the ground, it was Tony._

_He could hear Tony's chest, rattling with the wet sounds of blood in his lungs. There was a trickle of blood coming from the side of Tony's mouth. His eyes were open and glossy, locked on Peter's._

_Tony's hand twitched at his side, and Peter struggled to move, to reach him. The man coughed, and more blood spilled down his chin._

_Agony tore through Peter. He knew he was watching Tony die, and there was nothing he could do. He couldn't even tell him he loved him. Tears spilled down Peter's cheeks as he choked on silent sobs._

_Tony blinked, the corner of his pulling up into a macabre smile before his body gave itself over to death's embrace._

_Peter shook his head, and fresh tears burned their way down his cheeks. He tried to scream, but nothing would come out._

"Peter, wake up!" Tony's voice was beside him, and a firm hand was gripping his shoulder. 

Peter's hand instinctively reached out, grabbing Tony's arm as he caught his breath. Tony kept his grip firm and grounding, something Peter appreciated.  

He turned, looking at Tony, taking in how not dead he was. "You're not—it wasn't … ."

Tony gently squeezed Peter's arm. "Hey, hey, it's alright." 

Tears fell as Peter blinked, his lashes wet. His chest was tight with emotion. The nightmare too real, too close. Every time he blinked, he could still see the blood, remember the empty eyes. His stomach churned. The stress eating him alive. 

"Shh," Tony soothed, adjusting, so he was sitting beside Peter. His hand went to Peter's hair, scratching at his scalp. "Whatever it was, you're safe. I'm here."

Peter nodded jerkily, leaning into Tony's side and twisting his fingers in the fabric of the man's shirt. It was a childlike thing to do, but he couldn't help himself. He listened to the steady beat of Tony's heart, letting every thud chase the remnants of the nightmare further away. 

Neither said anything for some time, which Peter was grateful for. He wasn't ready to talk about it. Peter didn't know how to put it into words. It almost felt like if he did, he would be tempting fate. 

Using the sleeve of his shirt, he wiped away the dampness on his cheeks. His eyelids still felt heavy, and he reached up rubbed at them. He wondered how long he'd cried before Tony had come to find him. 

The yawn that slipped out didn't really surprise him. He knew he hadn't slept long, the sun was just cresting the horizon, but he had no desire to try to go back to sleep. He was terrified that if he did, he'd face another nightmare.

Tony's fingers kept up their lazy patterns in his hair, fingertips dragging back and forth over his scalp. Peter knew Tony was giving him time, time to settle, time to talk. He was thankful that Tony was learning to be patient. Their relationship had come a long way.

Scratching his thumb against the fading design of Tony's t-shirt, Peter broke the silence. "Thank you."

Tony hummed, fingers still moving. "Bad one, huh?"

Peter picked at the edge of a 'b' on Tony's Black Sabbath shirt. He didn't want to think about the dream or what it meant. 

"Peter?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

"Wanna talk about it?"

Peter didn't answer. Partly because he didn't know what to say and partly because talking just felt too hard.

Tony sighed, adjusting beside him, his hand dropping from Peter's hair. "Do you _need_ to talk about it?"

Peter shrugged. He'd watched Tony die the same way he'd watched Ben—could have lost James. It was like a curse. People close to him died. 

"Peter, you're worrying me."

Peter listened to a few more thuds of Tony's heart before sighing. "Nothing to worry about."

Tony's hand stilled. "You sure?"

Peter glanced up at Tony and nodded, noting his assessing gaze, how his lips were thinned, and his brow was furrowed. He hated making Tony worried, but he just wasn't feeling up to talking. 

After a second, Tony gave him a slow nod. "Okay, but if this becomes a thing, we're gonna talk about it."

Peter nodded and let his head drop back onto Tony's chest. Tony seemed to know that even though Peter wasn't ready to talk, he wasn't prepared to be alone either, so he wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and for a brief time, kept all his fears away.

Later that day, after Tony left him to get dressed, Peter found himself heading to the kitchen to find something for him and Bucky. He wanted to go see his friend and make sure that he was okay. 

As he was digging through the cabinets, Clint strolled into the kitchen, plopping down on one of the stools at the center island. 

Peter paused, the containers of yogurt and fruit balanced in his hands. Pursing his lips, he dropped his hoard on the counter, using his arms to keep the items from tumbling off the edge.

"Hungry?" Clint asked. 

Glancing down at the containers and then to Clint, Peter frowned. "It's not just for me."

Clint sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face, rubbing at his jaw. He looked tired and maybe even a little disappointed. 

"Peter, I know you want to believe in the best in people, but the Winter Soldier—there's a lot we don't know about him, and what we do know isn't good."

Peter lifted his chin. "His name is James. I don't get why you can't see that."

Clint opened his mouth to respond but closed it when light footsteps approached. Natasha entered the room, her expression cool, but there was a tightness to her eyes. "No, his name is Yasha, and he trained me."

"What?" Peter asked before he could think, memories of the conversation he'd overheard between Clint and Natasha floating back to the surface. 

Natasha stepped over to stand beside Clint, their arms nearly touching. "Yasha— _James_ , I knew him from my time in the Red Room, the place I was trained. Like all my instructors, he was ruthless."

"What do you mean?" Peter found himself asking.

It was Clint that answered. "She means he did things that would give you nightmares."

A shiver rippled down Peter's spine, and he found himself swallowing down a lump in his throat. "But he's not—"

"He is," Clint said.

Peter shook his head, wanting to believe they were wrong. "He isn't that guy anymore."

Natasha sighed, head tilting slightly as she studied him. Her lips pursed. "Just be careful around him. I don't want to see you hurt."

"He wouldn't hurt me."

Her expression softened. "Maybe not on purpose, but there are things you don't know—things he can't control."

"Like what?"

She shook her head. "They used words to control him. Even in my time with him, he rebelled." Pausing, she pressed her lips together. "These words—they made him do things. He may not want to hurt you, but the potential is there."

Peter noticed that Clint had slipped his hand over Natasha's in an offering of quiet support. 

“If he was fighting even then, with no one to help him"—Peter started slowly, his eyes lifting to lock with hers—“don’t you think that, maybe, he could fight the words now?”

Natasha blinked, her eyes widening a fraction. She glanced at Clint, whose expression was serious. She pressed her lips into a flat line. “For everyone's sake, I hope you're right.”

He looked down at the pile of food and then back to Clint and Natasha. He searched himself for a response but couldn't find one, so he settled with a nod. 

He gathered up the berries and yogurt and walked towards the elevators, his mind stirring with more questions than answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked it. I think it was okay? Feel free to come talk to me on tumblr if you like. Im a lonely little trash panda. Thanks for being patient. You guys deserve all the good shit for sticking with me. I love you!


	8. Chapter 8

Peter sat in the chair beside the hospital bed, his socked feet kicked up on the mattress. James was leaned back against the pillows, poking at his yogurt. He looked healthier—not as pale, though the dark circles remained beneath his eyes. A few good meals, a shower, and some clean clothes would go a long way to making him look and feel better. There was a certain layer of filth that you get used to when living in alleyways and boxes. Peter remembered the first hot shower he had at the tower and how amazing he felt after. It went a long way toward making him feel human again.  

Thinking about what had happened made a heavy stone settle in his stomach. He should have checked in with him—made sure things were alright. Maybe if he had, James wouldn’t be recovering from a gunshot wound. If he’d been there, perhaps his spidey sense would have warned them in time to get away. Peter knew how hard life on the streets could be, trying to do it with people after you? Even harder. It paid to have someone watching your back, and Peter wasn’t there to look out for his. It felt like he was forever a step behind. It was the story of his life.

Scrapping the last of his yogurt from the container, Peter licked his spoon, eyeing James. Clint and Natasha's warnings were still fresh in his mind, but they didn't make him afraid. If anything, the conversation they’d had made him more determined to help. He still couldn’t reconcile James with the man the two agents feared so much, but he could see it in Natasha’s eyes that what they said held some truth. Whatever past Natasha and James shared wasn’t good, and from how Clint seemed ready to put an arrow through James, Natasha had probably told him things Peter was glad not to know. If he was honest, he didn’t want to know how James was before escaping—when he was the Winter Soldier. 

James set his yogurt down on his bedside table and glanced down at his hands. He made a fist, flexing his left arm, the plates shifting and aligning in a downward rhythm. His hair was hanging in strands around his face, making him look menacing, but his eyes, they made something in Peter ache. There was so much pain in them. He looked lost in the emotion.

Peter looked down at the empty container in his hands, shifting in his seat. For as well as he knew James, he didn’t know him at all. Times like these, Peter never really knew what to say. He wanted to ask him about Natasha, but he wasn’t sure he should, so they sat in silence instead until James finally spoke.

“Tony’s letting me stay,” he said, flexing his metal hand again. Peter could hear the inner workings of the arm. There was a subtle hitch in the otherwise smooth sound, and he wondered if something was wrong with it. “I have to stay with Steve, but he’s not throwing me out—even if I don’t understand why.”

“He’s letting you stay because you deserve a chance.”

Bucky looked through his hair at him, arching a brow. “If anything, he’s doing it because he’s worried you’ll take off after me—or Steve’ll do something stupid. I doubt it’s me he’s worried about.”

“I won’t let them take you back.”

James huffed. “You don’t even know who they are.”

Peter remembered the conversation after Bucky woke up—before the adults kicked him out to talk. “You said it was Hydra.”

“Yeah, but that’s just their name. Who they are, what they are, that’s a whole other thing. The things they did.” He paused, shaking his head. “It’s the kind of thing that haunts you. If they ever come for me, I want you to let them take me. Don’t try to stop them.”

Peter pulled his legs off the bed and sat up straighter, tossing his yogurt container in the trash. “I’m not going to stand by and let them take you.” 

James sighed, running a hand over his mouth. “Peter, if they ever get close, you have to run. I’ll draw them away. If you fight them, they’ll find out what you can do, and they’ll want you. They’ll break you and use you, turn you into something nightmares are made of. You have to promise me you’ll run.”

Peter blinked, mouth slightly agape. “You know?”

James’ mouth twitched. “That you go parading around in pajamas? Yeah, I figured it out a long time ago.”

“How?”

“Remember when I patched you up that first time? Your suit was hanging out of your bag.” 

Peter frowned, trying to remember. “Huh. Well, then you know I can take care of myself and help you if they come.”

“It’s not a matter of if, it’s a matter of when,” James said, “and I won’t let other people risk themselves on my behalf—especially you. So promise me, Peter, promise me you’ll run.”

James held his gaze, and Peter felt frozen beneath it. He knew that if the time came, he would fight. Peter didn’t want to lie, but he knew the truth would make James leave to protect him. Peter didn’t know the details of James’ life, but he knew enough. If it came to a fight, he would give it everything he had to stop them from taking him back. He wouldn’t let James go back to the life he’d had. No one deserved to be tortured and used. 

Wetting his lips, Peter swallowed and nodded, not trusting his voice. He hated lying.  

“Say it, Peter,” James said. “Promise me.”

“I—I promise.” He didn’t say how the words tasted like ash on his tongue.

 Later that night after patrol, Peter found himself on the couch in the penthouse watching old episodes of Doctor Who, but he wasn’t really paying attention, distracted by his talk with James earlier in the day. May and Ben had raised him better than to lie, but he didn’t have any other choice. Keeping James safe was more important. Peter had accepted the man into his life, despite his rough edges, and he wasn’t about to let something happen to him. Peter had lost enough people. 

The soft padding of feet drew Peter’s attention away from his thoughts, and he glanced to the side to see Pepper approaching. She was dressed in flannel pajama pants and one of Tony’s band t-shirts, her hair loosely pulled back. Her lips curved into a smile upon seeing him, and Peter tried to return it, but he knew it was shaky at best. Being around her made him feel both relaxed and anxious. 

It wasn’t like when he was around Tony or any of the others. He only got this weird anxiety around her, and Peter wondered if maybe it was because she reminded him so much of May. He didn’t know how to act around her. Slipping up and calling her mom, even jokingly, scared him because if he looked deep enough inside himself, he knew he wanted to call her mom, and he was scared she wouldn’t want that. He couldn’t take more rejection. 

He pushed himself up on the couch and made room, picking up the remote from the cushion. “We can watch something else.”

She glanced at the TV, and her face lit up. “Oh, I love the Tenth Doctor!”

“Really? You like Doctor Who?”

She scoffed. “Of course. Eccentric genius running around trying to save the world—my kind of guy.”

He shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, I can see that.” He paused for a moment, then smiled. "I always found it funny that the last name for the actor of the Tenth Doctor is Tennant. Get it? _Ten_ -nant."

Pepper blinked at him then smirked. "You would know the names for all of the doctors, wouldn't you?"

He grinned up at her. "Did you expect anything else?"

She shook her head. "Nah, you're the cutest nerd I've ever met."

"Hey."

She shimmied into the corner of the couch, turning a little, so she was able to see Peter. She pulled her leg up and tucked it under her. Her eyes roamed over him, and he resisted the urge to squirm under her gaze. The corners of her mouth twitched downward at whatever she saw, but she quickly covered it up with a gentle smile. “So, is there a reason for this impromptu marathon?”

Peter shrugged, pulling his sleeves down over his hands. “Just wanted to get away, you know?”

Her head tilted slightly, and she sighed. “Yeah, I know how that is. Between running the company and chasing after Tony, I’m pretty familiar with wanting to escape. The question is, what are you escaping from?”

He looked down at his hands; his fingers twisted the fabric of his sleeve. “Have you ever had to lie to a friend?”

“Peter, is there something going on?”

He lifted his head, meeting her gaze. He didn’t want to lie to her. “Not yet.”

She nodded slowly, blinking a few times. “But there might be in the future?”

He shrugged and looked back down at his hands. “Maybe.”

“Well, to answer your question, I think sometimes lying is a necessary evil. As long as you weren’t doing it to hurt them, then it’s forgivable. It never feels good to do, though.”

Peter chewed his lip, shifting his gaze back to Pepper. “What if it’s a promise?”

“I don’t understand.”

“I made someone a promise—a promise I planned on breaking when I made it,” he confessed, feeling a little lighter for having said it out loud. 

Pepper’s brow wrinkled, and a frown touched her face. “What did you promise?”

The sound of a Dalek repeating ‘exterminate’ made him look to the TV. He watched as the Doctor battled, letting himself get lost for a moment. 

“Peter?” Pepper’s voice made him turn. She blinked at him, eyes searching. “What did you promise—or should I say, didn’t?”

His mouth was dry, but he still swallowed nervously. “I promised I wouldn’t take a risk to save someone, to save a friend.”

She sank back into the cushion, deflating a little. Nodding her head slightly, she said, “And we both know you’d never stand by when you could help.”

He drew his legs up, tucking his toes into the gap between cushions. He wrapped his arms around his knees. “Just feeling crappy about it.”

“Do you want me to talk to them?”

Peter’s head snapped up. “What? No, no. It’s fine. I think—I think that would probably just make things worse.”

She huffed a laugh. “Okay, fair enough, but I want you to be careful. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll be honest. I’m a little worried.” She paused, wriggling from the corner to sit closer to him. She placed a hand on his knee. Ducking her head, she caught his gaze and held it. “Now promise me something. If you get in over your head with something—anything, you come and find me. I can’t promise I won’t tell Tony, but I will try to keep it between us.”

He considered for a moment before agreeing. This was something he could do. He trusted Pepper.

* * *

Natasha sat on the couch in her apartment in the tower, a bottle of vodka sitting open on the coffee table in front of her. Clint had left an hour ago after making her promise she wouldn’t finish it. What Clint didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

She grabbed the bottle and took a long pull, flopping back against the couch with it still in her hand. She rested it on her leg and closed her eyes. It had been so long since she’d seen Yasha, really seen him, and it was something she had hoped to avoid. 

She’d told Clint bits and pieces, but she kept some of it close to her chest. The relationship she had with Yasha wasn’t black and white, despite how much she wanted to believe it was. He had helped her become who she was now. He hadn’t just taught her to kill—he’d been her first love. It was a secret that she held close to her heart. It was as a young woman that she’d taken missions with him, and she’d seen a glimmer of something in him, something not as sharp and cold. She saw the man beneath the mask of the soldier. 

Their relationship didn’t last, though. Yasha's handlers saw the way he was behaving toward her and decided to make a point. They weren’t going to allow him to be compromised. They’d used his trigger words on him, his whole body stiffening and becoming something else. Any recognition left his eyes, and his expression became cold. 

With a few simple words, they’d commanded him to attack her, and he’d complied. 

The fight was nasty, and Natasha had struggled to block his blows, but he’d trained her and knew her better than anyone else. He didn’t pull his punches. The soldier fought to kill, his expression vacant and emotionless as he landed blow after blow. Eventually, she crumpled to the floor, knowing she was defeated, blood dripping from her face. 

She hadn’t just lost the fight—she’d lost Yasha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I took _forever_ to write this. It just refused until today when I sat down and wrote the whole thing. I mean if I still even have readers, I'll be shocked. Sorry. Anyway, I hope this chapter was alright compensation for the wait.


	9. Chapter 9

"So, that's about it," Steve said with a slight shrug as he looked around the apartment.

Bucky nodded, taking in the mismatched decor. The apartment had an open floor plan with modern lines and expensive furniture, but strewn throughout were touches of Steve. An old quilt hung over the back of the couch, a table lamp was set on the floor to make room for a record player and a stack of records, and used books rested on the coffee table. Bucky didn’t feel comfortable there, though. After all the time he’d spent on the run, it was hard to adjust to being in a home.

Steve shifted his weight between his feet and rubbed a hand over his neck. It seemed like he was just as unsure as Bucky, though probably for different reasons. Bucky didn’t know what his role was, what they wanted from him. He didn’t know if he could be what Steve wanted. He lost part of that life. Bucky remembered some of the past, but he’d changed. Bucky didn’t remember everything he’d done as the Winter Soldier, but he remembered enough to be weighed down by it. He knew what he was capable of. Despite Peter and Steve’s faith in him, he knew he was dangerous—even if just putting them at risk of being targeted by Hydra.

“So, what do you think?” Steve asked, dropping the hand that was rubbing his neck. “If you don’t like your room, we can figure something else out.”

Bucky shook his head. “It’s fine.”

He still didn’t know what to do with himself. He’d been running so long that is was almost unnerving to have a safe place to rest. He frowned and looked around the space again. He wondered what Peter was doing. The kid had made a home here with them, and Bucky couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. He wasn’t sure he could settle in like Peter had.

Steve coughed lightly, clearing his throat. “I know things are different, but you know that I’m in your corner, right? If you need to talk or anything, I’m here.”

Bucky glanced at him, meeting his gaze, his brows pulling together. “I’m fine.”

The corners of Steve’s mouth tugged downward. He was silent for a moment. “Buck, you know it’s okay if you’re not fine, though, right? I know enough about Hydra to know that things must have been bad.”

His eyes narrowed as he held Steve’s gaze. They stared at each other for a moment before Bucky looked away. His jaw clenched at the fragments of memories that passed through his mind. “I …” He clenched his hands into fists, the plates of his metal arm recalibrating. “I don’t remember much, and what I do remember—it’s not something you talk about. I did awful things. They turned me into a monster.”

Bucky heard Steve suck in a breath, and he waited for Steve to respond—to argue that he wasn’t the monster that Bucky knew himself to be.  

“But you didn’t want to do those things, did you?” Steve asked, making Bucky look at him.

Bucky shook his head, glancing away. When he looked back to Steve, he was frowning. “It was still me—my hands. I don’t remember everything, but I get glimpses. It’s like trying to remember a dream.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t try to remember.”

Bucky’s lips thinned, and he shook his head. “I need to know. It’s the only way I can make things right.”

Steve took a deep breath, letting it out as he scrubbed a hand over his mouth. “Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to find someone to talk to—not that you can’t talk to me. I’m just thinking that a professional might be able to help with your memory. I could ask Tony to find someone.”

Bucky gnawed on his lip. He wasn’t sure how he felt about talking to someone about the things going on in his head, but getting back more of his memories was important to him. Maybe it would help him understand why he felt strange around Tony. Whenever Bucky was around him, he had an odd feeling of déjà vu. Something about Tony seemed familiar, but he didn’t know why. When Bucky looked at him, it was like he was seeing someone else—a flicker of another man, similar but different. The feeling surrounding it was never a good one. It was grief and pain and always just out of reach. He didn’t know what it meant, but he wanted to find out. If seeing someone would help, then maybe he should try it.

“Yeah, maybe it’s worth a shot.”

Steve’s face brightened a little. “Good, I’ll talk to him later and see if we can’t set something up.”

Bucky gave a tight nod and rubbed the palm of his flesh hand against the denim of his jeans. He swallowed despite the dryness of his mouth. His gaze flitted around the room before focusing absently on a charcoal drawing that hung on the wall behind Steve. “Thanks—not just for talking to Tony but for everything.” He paused, gaze to moving to Steve. “You guys all took in Peter and gave him a home, and now you're giving me a chance—even if I don’t deserve it.”

“Buck—”

“No, Stevie. I really don’t, but it means a lot that you’re still sticking by me after all these years. I’m not the same guy I used to be, but I think part of him is still in here.” He tapped a finger against his temple. “I haven’t forgotten what it’s like to want to kick your ass for not staying out of trouble.”

Steve huffed a laugh. “You probably don’t want to know half the things I’ve done lately.”

“Probably not. I’m still trying to wrap my head around you crashing that plane in the ice.”

Later that evening, Bucky followed Steve to the communal floor. It was close to dinner. Steve convinced him it would do him good to get out of the apartment and meet the rest of the team. Bucky wasn’t convinced of the idea, but he went along with it.

They were in the kitchen, helping Bruce and Peter with dinner when a red-headed woman stepped into view. She wore casual clothes, a little oversized but comfortable. Her hair was tied back in a loose braid, and wisps of hair fell around her face. For all her soft edges, her eyes were hard as they took in the scene. As Bucky studied her, she grew tenser, her mouth pressing into a grim line.

Steve cleared his thought, breaking the tension. “Bucky, this is Natasha. Natasha, this Bucky.”

Bucky licked his lips. He had the same feeling of déjà vu he’d felt around Tony. There was no doubt in his mind that he knew her from somewhere. He’d dreamt of her face before.

“Yasha,” she said with a nod.

The single word, the name, made him tense. A deep longing ached in him, and he didn’t know why. Blurry images stirred in his mind, moving like shadows that he couldn’t quite make out. Was she the Natalya from his dreams? Before he could speak to ask, she spun and strode from the room.

Tony walked in as she disappeared from sight. “Where’s she going?” he asked as he grabbed a carrot from the pile Bucky had been chopping. He looked at Bucky, raising a brow. “You’re looking better.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, tightening his grip on the knife he’d been chopping with. “Just peachy.”

Tony grunted and grabbed another carrot before leaning against the counter. He tilted his head to look around Bucky. “So, Pete, how’s the new web configurations working out?”

Peter and Tony fell into a rambling conversation as Bruce and Steve continued to cook. Bucky’s focus wasn’t on them, though. It was on the memories of Natalya and trying to remember who she was to him.

By the time dinner was finished, Bucky was feeling cagey, and Steve seemed to notice, offering to bring dinner back to their apartment and eat there. Bucky agreed, and they headed back, eating in silence as Bucky tried to process his thoughts.

That night when Bucky went to bed, he didn’t get much sleep. The mattress felt foreign beneath him. It was too soft. He tossed and turned for hours before falling into a fitful sleep. Much to his surprise, he didn’t dream of killing and carnage and ice. Instead, he dreamt of a woman, her red hair glowing as the light from a window reflected from it. The feeling of longing he’d felt earlier was back. He wanted to be near her. The dream shifted, though, before he could touch her. He was training her. She called him Yasha. Then it changed. Words he never wanted to hear were being said, and the scene became clouded. He felt like his mind was trapped in a cage as he screamed, demanding to be freed. He watched in horror through his own eyes as he turned on her, his Natalya. He cried and screamed for it to stop as he watched her fall, blood dripping from her nose and mouth. He was going to kill her. She whispered his name and looked at him with resignation in her eyes. Part of him broke inside.

“Bucky!” Hands were gripping his shoulders, and his eyes snapped open. He didn’t even register who was beside him before he was reaching for the knife he’d slipped under his pillow. With a few swift movements, he had his attacker pinned to the wall, blade at his throat. He panted as he held him there, trying to catch his breath.

“Buck, it’s me, Steve.”

He narrowed his eyes as reality began to sharpen, and he wasn’t caught in the dream anymore. Steve’s worried face was looking back at him. Bucky let out a huff and dropped his hands, taking a step back. He ran his flesh through his hair, sweeping it from his face. He was still shaken from his dream. He’d almost killed his Natalya. His Natalya was their Natasha. What had he done?

Bucky walked to the bed and sat down, knife still in his hand. He hung his head. A moment later, Steve took a seat beside him. Bucky didn’t look up. In fact, he just squeezed his eyes shut, trying to escape from what he’d done. He’d nearly hurt Steve, and he had almost killed Natalya. No wonder she left like she had from the kitchen.

“Are you alright?” Steve asked.

He shook his head. He was definitely not alright. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“I’ll tell you as many times as you need to hear it, Buck. You deserve our help.”

Bucky turned his head to look at Steve, his brow furrowed. “I could have killed you. I almost did.”

“But you didn’t, and don’t you think I could have stopped you? I knew you wouldn’t hurt me.”

Bucky scoffed. “You shouldn’t trust me. I almost killed the last person who did.”

Steve frowned. “What?”

“Natalya—Natasha.” He looked down at the knife in his hand. “I think I loved her once, and I nearly killed her.”

“What? You knew her?”

Bucky turned the knife, the blade catching the light. “I trained her, I loved her, and I think she loved me. They used me against her, Steve. No wonder she took off when she saw me. I’m probably the last person she ever wants to see.”

He heard Steve sigh. “This complicates things.”

“You think?”

“It explains why she and Clint reacted like they did when we found you.”

Bucky closed his eyes. “I shouldn’t stay here. It’s not fair to her. I hurt her bad.”

“No, we’ll figure this out. If you want, I can talk to her.”

He shook his head. “No, if anyone is going to talk to her, it should be me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that I took so long! I feel bad. I hope you liked it. Our poor murder muffin is really having a rough time. He needs a hug. Sorry for the lack of Peter time in this one. I'll try to get some Peter in the next chapter. Thanks for reading and I hope you liked it. Feel free to say hi in comments or on tumblr. I love hearing from you guys :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this chapter this morning and then just kept pecking away at it. I got it done and gave a quick edit so I could post. Sorry for any typos. feel free to point them out, but I'll try to check over it later when I'm less tired. Enough from me, go read and tell me what you think! please. lol

A few weeks passed, and Bucky had yet to confront Natasha, spending most of his time in Steve’s apartment, bingeing on movies and junk food. Peter called him broody. Maybe he was. If Bucky were honest with himself, he’d have to admit he was scared. He didn’t know what to make of his feelings. Since he’d last seen Natasha, more memories had surfaced, and with them, emotions that he wasn’t sure how to feel. Something in him ached to be closer to her, while another part felt like he should leave to avoid hurting her again. The memory of her bloodied face was a stark reminder of how dangerous he was. The words in his head were like a landmine waiting to be tripped. Anyone with the right knowledge could bend him to their will, and he knew he wasn’t strong enough to resist.

“You gonna eat that?” Peter asked, nodding to the last slice of pizza. They were sitting in the living room of Steve’s apartment, watching a movie. Steve had been called away, something about alien tech. Bucky hadn’t been paying much attention. He was just happy not to have the man lurking around the apartment, giving him sad looks when Steve didn’t think he was looking.

Bucky nudged the box of pizza with his foot, his feet propped on the table and crossed at the ankle. “Take it.”

Peter grabbed the last slice, hanging it over his mouth as he took a bit. A bit of grease dripped and landed on his chin, making Bucky roll his eyes. “You’re a mess.”

Peter shrugged, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. “Like you’re any better. Remember, I’ve seen you eat ketchup straight from the packet.”

“Excuse me, but ketchup is a vegetable, and if you recall, those were all we had to eat.”

Peter laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’ll give you that.”

Bucky returned his attention to the TV as Peter finished eating. As the credits started to roll, Peter glanced over at him. Bucky raised a brow at his expression. Peter was chewing his lip, and his forehead wrinkled in thought.

“Alright, out with it, kid,” Bucky said. “What’s on your mind?”

Peter sighed. “It’s not really any of my business.”

Bucky scrubbed a hand over his face. “Just spit it out. Whatever it is, it’s been bugging you for weeks. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“Oh,” Peter said, “I didn’t think I was that obvious.”

Bucky huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Sorry to break it to you, kid, but you’re an open book most of the time.”

“I’m not—”

“Trust me, you are,” Bucky said. “Now, what’s eating you?”

Peter looked at the bookcase, a frown touching his face. He glanced back at Bucky. “Are there really words that can control you?”

Bucky sucked in a breath, licking his lips. “Who told you that?”

“Natasha.”

Bucky faintly nodded. “What’d she say?”

Peter gave a half-hearted shrug as he twisted his fingers together. “Stuff about you—that there was a way to control you, turn you into someone else.” He bit his lip. “She said I should be careful around you.”

Bucky’s mind went back to what he and Natasha had shared and to what he had done. He looked down at his left hand, flexing it into a fist. The metal glinted looked worn and tired, much like how he felt. His hands had almost killed the person he loved, or at least he was pretty sure he loved her. He should have fought harder, but then what would have happened if he did? Maybe they’d both be dead, or perhaps they’d have both escaped. Thinking about the possibilities made the emptiness in him ache.

Flattening his palm against his leg, Bucky sighed. “She’s right to warn you. Honestly, I’ve been selfish. I shouldn’t have stuck around after I saved you in that alley. I’ve been putting you in danger.”

Peter shook his head. “I know you. You can fight it.”

Bucky snapped his head around to look at Peter. “No, it’s not that simple. You don’t understand. When they use those words, I check out. There is no me left to fight back.”

“You got away, though. Didn’t that mean fighting their control?”

Bucky looked back at his metal hand, clenching it into a fist. “Escaping was different. They hadn’t used the words in a while, and things were starting to come back. They waited too long between wipes.”

“Wipes?”

Bucky closed his eyes. “Yeah, there was this chair, with straps and this thing for my head. There’d be pain and then nothing. I wouldn’t even know my own reflection after.”

“That’s awful.”

“I don’t need pity,” Bucky said.

"Good because I’m not giving you any," he shot back. "It's called sympathy. It's different. What happened to you was awful, and you didn't deserve it. Those are facts."

Bucky bit his tongue, glowering at the TV. What Peter said wasn't wrong, but accepting it wasn’t easy. He wasn't sure if he even should. 

Peter watched him for a moment before sighing. "Look, I didn’t mean to upset you, but can I ask you something?"

Bucky raised his brows. “What?”

“If you could get rid of them, the words, would you?”

“Yeah, in a heartbeat.”

“Then maybe there’s something we can do—with some help,” Peter said. “Maybe not remove them, but I don’t see why we couldn’t at least rework them. Kinda like programming a computer. I mean, I don’t know how they got them into you, but it seems like it should be possible to divert the commands—change the response.”

A little bubble hope began to swell in Bucky, but he clamped down on it. Peter was smart, and he trusted him, but it wouldn’t be that simple. It couldn’t be. He shook his head. “I don’t know, Peter.”

“No, listen,” the kid continued. “I was watching some of Tony’s old TED talks, and he did one on this thing he called BARF. Binarily Augmented Retro-Framing. I think we could use that to retrain your brain and undo the conditioning.”

“I really don’t know. This sounds like too much. You don’t need to help me like this.”

“Yeah, I do. You’re my friend and friends take care of each other,” Peter said. “We need to talk to Tony, but I think this could work.”

The doors to the workshop slid open, and Peter stepped inside, cringing at the loud music blasting from the speakers. The doors closed behind him, and he walked over to the workbench, standing beside Tony. The man didn’t even notice, too absorbed in his project, his head nodding along to the music. Peter rested his hip against the counter and leaned his head to see what Tony was working on. It looked like one of his earlier gauntlets, just taken apart. After a moment, Peter nudged the man with his foot, making his jump.

Tony snapped his head around to look at Peter. He blinked a few times before asking Friday to turn down the music. “Kid? What are you doing down here? I figured you’d still be camped out with our resident cyborg assassin.”

“Huh?”

Tony smiled, looking back to the mess of parts on the bench. “Steve mentioned that you’ve been living on their couch lately. Honestly, I just think he’s a bit jealous that Bucky’s more comfortable around you than him.”

“What?” Peter stammered. “He isn’t mad, is he? I was only trying to help Bucky adjust. He’s seemed down lately—more than usual.”

Tony scoffed, shaking his head. “You don’t need to worry about Steve. He’s not upset. I just think he’s struggling with some things.”

“You sure?”

“Positive. Steve will be fine, though I’ve got to admit that I’m feeling a little jealous myself. I’ve barely seen you lately.”

Peter shrugged a shoulder, picking a screwdriver up and tossing it between his hands. “I don’t know. I’ve just been busy trying to catch up on schoolwork, visiting Bucky, and patrolling.” He looked at Tony, frowning. “I’m sorry. I should’ve made more time for you guys.”

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be making you feel bad for helping out a friend. Steve mentioned that Bucky’s been kind of down lately, but seeing you brings him back out of it. You’re doing a good thing.”

Peter nodded, looking down at the screwdriver he was now twirling between his fingers. He glanced back up at Tony, his brows pinching together. “Has Steve or Natasha mentioned anything about the words—the ones that Hydra used on Bucky?”

A frown touched Tony’s face, and he set down the pieces of tech he had in his hands. “What words?”

Peter blinked a few times, surprised to know something Tony didn’t. “Um, they like programmed words into him. Like an override code. If he hears them, I guess he just checks out and awaits commands.”

Tony opened his mouth as if to something but then shut it. He took a breath and dragged a hand over his face. Hand still lingering on his chin, he started, “Yeah, okay, either I was ignoring them, or that detail got left out.” He dropped his hand and sighed. “And let me guess, he can’t fight these commands once the words are said?”

Peter shook his head. “I kinda get the feeling some pretty bad things have happened because of them. The way Natasha warned me about him. It seemed personal.”

“Well, he did shoot through her once.”

“It seemed more than that. She had this look, you know? Like there was something more she wasn’t saying.” Peter put the tool back on the bench, dropping his elbows onto his knees and putting his face in his hands. He rubbed his eyes before looking up at Tony. “I want to help him. I think we can.”

Tony sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “That kind of thing. It’s out of my scope. I don’t even know where to start.”

“Are you saying you won’t?” Peter asked.

Tony glanced at the mess of tools and parts before looking back at him. “No, I’m not saying that. We should help him. It’s just going to take some time. I’ll need to talk to Banner, maybe call in some favors. Programming an AI I can do. Deprogramming a human? I honestly don’t know where to start.”

Peter licked his lips, swallowing nervously. “I actually have an idea about that.”

Tony arched a brow, head tilting to the side slightly. “Yeah, what you got?”

“I was thinking about using BARF. I watched your TED talk. I mean, I don’t know if it would work, but I think we could use it to access the memories from when the words were programmed, change the expected response.”

Tony’s face scrunched in thought. “Huh. That’s actually not half bad. It could actually work.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “The only catch I see is that it’s not gonna be easy on Bucky. He’ll have to relive whatever happened to place the words there in the first place, and I have a feeling that it wasn’t all smiles and rainbows.”

“But, you think it could work?”

Tony shrugged. “We would need safeguards in place. I’ll need to get some things ready first—talk to Steve and Bucky—but yeah, it could work.”

Bucky sat on the couch in Steve’s apartment, writing in his journal. He’d been trying to work through his memories, jotting them down helped organize his thoughts. It also gave him a feeling of security. He worried about his memories disappearing again and having a hard copy of them gave him some peace of mind.

As he turned the page to scribble down a thought, there was a soft knock on the door. Folding the journal closed, he set it on the couch beside him and approached the door. He took quick stock of any weapons he had—two knives, one in his boot, the other strapped to his belt. Steve was still out talking with Tony, and he wasn’t expecting company.

Brushing his fingers over the knife on his waist, he reached for the door. He thought he was prepared for anything, but who he saw when the door swung open made Bucky’s heart jump to his throat. Natasha stood on the other side of the doorway, a nearly unreadable mask in place, all except for her eyes, which held a mixture of emotions. He could get lost in her eyes.

Her mouth twitched. “We need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked. I've got some crap planned finally so I should be able to get chapters out faster. It's kinda relieving knowing where I'm going. Thank you so much for staying with me. I love you guys!!!!


	11. Chapter 11

Natasha took a seat in the chair, while Bucky sat rigid on the couch. He kept his gaze down, but he could feel her eyes boring into him. They’d been sitting in silence for minutes that dragged by like hours. Bucky shifted in his seat, squeezing his hands into fists. He knew they needed to talk, there were things to be said, but he struggled to find the words. He wet his lips and then glanced at her. Her gaze was so intense that it made him avert his eyes.

“Do you know why I’m here?”

Bucky chanced a look in her direction, nodding. “Yeah, I know, and if I could go back and stop myself, spare you somehow, I would. How can you stand being near me?”

She shook her head. “Because I know you, and I know what it’s like to have blood on your hands.”

“Bloods different than what I did to you. I thought—I think I might have loved you. What kind of monster does that make me? And don’t say it wasn’t me because it was. It was my hands.”

“I wouldn’t change what we had—even with the way it ended.” She paused, turning to look out the window for a moment before looking back at him. “And it wasn’t your fault. It took a long time for me to accept that. For many years, I felt betrayed.”

Bucky flexed his metal hand, feeling the muted sensation of pressure as he clenched his fist. “It was my fault you got hurt. I knew what I was capable of, I knew we could be discovered, but I stayed close to you anyway.” He paused. “It was my fault.”

Natasha sighed. “We both knew what we were doing. As I said, I don’t regret what we shared, but I think you should know, I forgive you, James.”

He frowned at her words. He didn’t feel like he deserved forgiveness. “I—you shouldn’t. Forgive me, I mean. I hurt you, left you there.”

She smiled sadly. “There was nothing you could have done. Yes, I dreamed of running away with you, but deep down, I knew it would always remain a dream.  You taught me to survive—in more ways than one.”

“How can you say that? I remember how I trained you. I remember the things—” Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and taking a breath before looking back at her. “I wasn’t a good man. I was wrong to get so close, wrong to feel like I did.”

“James, listen to me—”

“Stop! Why do you keep calling me James? You called me Yasha before—when you saw me in the kitchen. Why James now?”

Her mouth twitched, and she looked away. “I shouldn’t have called you Yasha. You’re no more Yasha than I’m Natalya.”

Frowning, he looked down at his metal hand, noting how worn it looked. “You’re right. I don’t think I could be him again. Honestly, I don’t even know who I am anymore. Some days I remember being Bucky, and others, I don’t know.”

“You’re whoever you want to be,” she said, and he glanced up at her. “You’re free now, James, free to decide.”

“Not free yet, not until they get these words out of my head.”

Xxx

Natasha had left hours ago, leaving Bucky to his thoughts alone in the apartment. He’d searched the cabinets for alcohol but came up dry—not that he held much hope that Steve would keep a secret stash. Neither of them could get drunk, but the taste was familiar, the burn soothing. Disappointed, Bucky settled on a chair in the living room, kicking his legs up on the coffee table. He leaned his head back on the chair and stared at the pristine, white ceiling. He didn’t belong there. Everything was too clean and neat and perfect. He was rough and worn and tainted. He stood out in sharp contrast against his new surroundings.

The door opened, and he tensed before sinking back into the chair. It was just Steve. He’d gone to meet with Tony, something about the procedure to remove his words. He hadn’t asked for details, but he assumed it was something to do with safety. It didn’t take a genius to know that mucking around in his brain could lead to releasing the very thing they were trying to erase. The Winter Soldier was always within reach, a shadow stretching out from him. It didn’t matter how much he tried to run. He couldn't escape it. Until they got the words out, the soldier would always be there.

His eyes tracked Steve as he walked toward the sitting area, collapsing on the couch, his arms draping over the back. The lines of Steve’s brow deepened as he studied him. Bucky shifted in his seat and looked away.

“You okay?” Steve asked.

Bucky shrugged a shoulder, picking at his nails. “Been worse.”

“That’s not what I asked, Buck.”

He looked up at his words, seeing the frown on Steve’s face. He pushed himself out of his chair and walked over to the window, pressing his palms against the glass as he looked out over the city. Closing his eyes, he hung his head. “I don’t know, Stevie.” He paused, lifting his head and opening his eyes. “Everything has been changing so fast. I feel like I’m getting lost is all.”

Bucky swallowed back against the lump forming in his throat. He’d felt so alone lately. Even with Peter and Steve around, he still didn’t feel connected. He didn’t feel like he fit anywhere. The talk with Natasha had both eased some of his worries and made new ones. How could she forgive him for what he’d done? Tears pricked at his eyes and lifted his hand from the glass to wipe furiously at the few that escaped.

The couch creaked behind him, and then he heard footsteps as Steve approached. He could feel Steve’s presence behind him, radiating protectiveness and concern. He drew a stuttering breath, keeping his eyes focused on the scenery outside the window. Another tear slipped down his cheek. Traitorous emotions. He bit at the inside of his lip, relishing the sharp sting, letting it ground him. Then a hand touched his shoulder. Anyone else, he would have tensed, but even without all his memories, he could trust Steve—Steve was safe.

The hand resting on his shoulder, the simple act of kindness, made him come undone. It had been so long since someone had touched him like that. He was so accustomed to pain, a lifetime spent with handlers torturing him for showing weakness. It felt wrong to cry, yet the tears were falling. His face twisted as he choked on a sob, and the hand on his shoulder gave him a gentle squeeze. He dropped his head, face contorted in pain. He wiped at his eyes again. He couldn’t fall apart. He’d be punished. The soldier didn’t show weakness. But he wasn’t the soldier anymore, he reminded himself.

The hand dropped from his shoulder, and the loss made something in his chest clench. It felt like rejection. Maybe Steve finally saw what he a mess he was and was distancing himself. The urge to hide and lick his wounds grew inside him and turned only to run into Steve’s chest. He hadn’t realized he was standing so close. Bucky’s gaze flicked up to his friend’s face before dropping between them. The only sound was Bucky’s quick and uneven breaths.

“Excuse me,” Bucky said, moving to step around Steve. He thought Steve would let him, not wanting to deal with him while so emotional, but instead of moving aside so he could pass, Steve lifted his hands, holding them hesitantly just inches from Bucky’s arms. Bucky looked up and saw Steve’s Adam’s apple dip as he swallowed. He looked nervous and unsure, and it made Bucky’s frown deepen. Another tear slipped from his eye, and he turned away to hide his weakness.

Steve’s hands brushed his arms like he was testing the touch. A shiver passed through Bucky, and he found himself craving the connection. He glanced at Steve through wet lashes. There was something familiar about the way Steve was looking at him. The traces of the memory just out of reach, but it still brought emotions to the surface. The feelings weren’t unlike what he felt for Natasha, the distant sense of longing, but with Steve, there was something more. He just didn’t know how to put it into words.

“Stevie,” he breathed.

“Is this okay?” Steve glanced down at where his hands were touching him.

Bucky followed his gaze down to where one of Steve’s hands touched his arm, and his mouth twitched. “Yeah, yeah, that’s—I don’t mind.”

Steve’s thumbs moved back and forth, soothing, and Bucky looked up to meet his eyes. Steve’s expression was just as open and exposed as Bucky felt. It stirred something in him long forgotten, and he wondered if the saddened glances he'd caught from Steve didn’t mean something more. His memories were broken, most just fragments and shards, but he searched his mind anyway, looking for an explanation for the flicker of warmth he felt. 

Steve's hand trailed up his arm and over his shoulder to cup the side of his neck. He stiffened briefly at the change before leaning into the touch. Steve's thumb ran back and forth over the rough beard on his jaw, his hand warm and grounding. 

"And this?" Steve asked, hand still pressed to his neck. "Is this okay, too?"

Not trusting his voice, Bucky gave a tight nod. His hands fisted at his sides. He wanted the touch but was afraid of it, too. 

“Talk to me, Buck. What are you thinking?”

His brows pinched together. “Did we—were we more once?” He blinked. “I remember this feeling.”

Steve’s mouth twitched. “We never acted on it, but we got close—then you fell.” His thumb moved over his jawline. “I just thought—we never had a chance. I know it must be a lot for you, but I can’t help wanting this. I never thought I’d get another chance with you.”

Bucky flexed his hand, then reached up, wrapping his fingers around Steve’s wrist. “I’m not saying no, but I need time. I’m sorry, Stevie.”

Steve’s face fell, but he covered it with a weak smile. “I understand.” He lowered his hand, dropping it from his neck. Bucky let him go.

He lifted his gaze to meet Steve’s and wet his lips, swallowing nervously. “Maybe we could start small—sit and watch a movie with me?”

Steve’s eyes brightened, and his smile softened. “A movie sounds good.”

Bucky wasn’t sure how to describe the new feelings bubbling inside him, but they were warm and comforting, making something in him ache, but in a good way, like remembering something lost. Being close to Steve, his touch, it felt like coming home. It was something he’d been missing since his fall from the train. Now that the feeling was back, he wondered how he could have forgotten it in the first place. He’d been living with Steve for weeks and never felt the connection, not until he saw Steve’s face as he touched his arms. That’s when the flicker of warmth returned. 

Steve made popcorn as Bucky took a seat on the couch. His back was straight and shoulders tense. He curled his toes in his boots, feeling the stiff leather. He should take them off. Bending, he untied the laces and toed them off, setting them together beside the couch. He leaned back on the sofa, biting the inside of his cheek. Footsteps approached, and Steve appeared with a bowl of popcorn, placing it on the table. His gaze flicked to Bucky and then to the empty spot beside him on the couch, asking silent permission. Bucky eyed him for a moment before tipping his head in a nod. The corners of Steve’s mouth quirked up and took a seat beside him. 

“What are we watching?” Steve asked, and Bucky looked to the screen.

“I hadn’t picked—didn’t know what you’ve seen.”

“Okay.” Steve grabbed the bowl of popcorn from the table, leaning back against the cushions. He grabbed the remote that sat between them. “Let’s take a look.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now did anyone see that coming? I totally planned on Natasha and Bucky maybe getting back together but this happened instead. I see Nat and bucky having an awesome friendship. I think she loved Yasha, and like she said, Bucky isn't him. That chapter is closed. I really think Natasha is strong and has made peace with the past. Heads up, I plan on there being some reliving of Bucky's trauma soon. I don't know how graphic it will get but yeah, I will be tossing up a warning in notes when we get there.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back to Peter this chapter and some good old fashioned emotional hurt/comfort between him and Tony because I was craving some emotional fluff.

Peter stood back and watched as Tony double-checked the security measures for the containment room they’d decided to use for Bucky’s treatment.  In a matter of a week, Tony had altered BARF to achieve their goals—or so they hoped. There were still unknown variables, like how Bucky would react, which was why Tony had built the containment room. It would keep him in—just in case things went south and the Winter Soldier made an appearance.

Tony stepped back, shutting and securing the door. Putting his hands on hips, he turned to Peter. “I think we got it. It’s as secure as we can get while still being able to observe.”

Peter eyed the reinforced glass walls. “Do you really think he’s gonna need it?”

Tony tipped his head back and forth. “He might. I talked to a few specialists. It could go either way—including ways we haven’t even predicted, which is why I don’t want you here when we do this.”

“What? I’m not leaving him to go through this alone.”

Tony sighed. “He won’t be alone. Steve and Bruce will be here, and so will I.”

Peter frowned, looking at the chair in the middle of the glass containment room. His eyes flicked back to Tony, and he shook his head. “I’m gonna be here. I don’t care.”

“You’d be able to see his memories right along with him,” Tony said. “I don’t think he’d want you to see that. I don’t want you to see that. It could get bad—real bad.”

“He’d be there for me. I want to be there for him.”

Tony’s shoulders dropped, and he ran a hand over his mouth. “This is really important to you, isn’t it?”

Peter nodded.

“Fine, you can stay, but if the shit hits the fan and things take a turn, you get out. No arguments.”

“I promise I won’t get in the way.”

Tony nodded and then walked over to the table that was facing the room. Various pieces of equipment covered the surface. Tony grabbed the glasses that went with BARF from the table while tapping a few keys on the keyboard. He glanced over at Peter and smiled. “So, I think we are good to go with these, but I’d like to run through a quick test first. You wanna see me back in my MIT years?”

Peter’s brow furrowed. “This will let you go back to anything you remember, right?”

Tony nodded as he scanned the screen in front of him. “Yep, if it’s in there, you can pull it up and revisit it. Why?”

The hazy memory of his mother and father drifted through his mind. It was from so long ago that he wasn't sure how much was real and how much his mind had created. He'd seen pictures of his parents, but the idea he could really see them from his own memories was just too tempting. 

Peter frowned, rubbing his hands against the pockets of his jeans. "Um … could I try it?"

Tony straightened, giving him a discerning look. "I guess it depends. What are you looking to get out of it?"

"I want to see my parents." He looked down at his hands that were now twisting together in front of him. "I don't have anything left from them." He glanced up at Tony, seeing the deep lines of worry etched on his face.

"That’s—” Tony began only to cut himself off. He rubbed his eyes, then dragged the hand down his face. He leveled his gaze on Peter, his eyes searching. “Are you sure? I’m not saying no, but it could stir up things that you’re not ready to deal with.”

“I’m sure,” Peter said. “I want this.”

With a sigh and a nod, Tony agreed, and half an hour later, Peter was in the containment room ready to revisit his past. Tony stood a few feet away in the doorway, tablet with controls in his hand.

“You ready to start?” Tony asked.

Peter looked up from the glasses he held in his hand. He slid them on, giving Tony a tight nod. Peter knew logically what to expect, he’d seen the videos of it being used, but the reality that he was about to see a memory of his parents was nearly overwhelming. He knew what memory he wanted to visit—the last time he saw them alive, the morning they left for the airport. He was too young to really say goodbye. He wanted the chance to say the words, even if they would never hear them.

“I’m ready.”

The room shifted around him as the hologram took its place. He was startled by the sharpness and realism. He was standing by the wall of his old house, looking at a younger version of himself playing with legos. He was only five, small for his age, his hair a mess of curls, flopping in his eyes. Peter watched his younger self click the legos together into a tower and then giggle as a moment later he picked up his Iron Man action figure and knock it down. He’d totally forgotten about the action figure. Funny how his life worked out. He wondered what Tony thought, seeing him playing with his Iron Man toy.

“Peter,” a voice familiar voice floated in from the other room, and a moment later, his mother came in through the hall. Her chestnut hair fell in voluminous curls off her shoulders, and she laughed as she saw Peter flying around his Iron Man toy. “It’s almost time for us to go, and mommy would really like a hug from her favorite little boy before she left.”

His younger self looked up at her, frowning. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“I wish I could stay, but we have to go,” she said, brushing his bangs back from his face. “We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

Peter’s heart clenched, and he swallowed back a painful lump. Tears began to prick his eyes. This was the last time he’d ever seen her. He wanted to stay in the moment forever.

“Mary, I’m gonna take our bags out to the car!”

Peter’s head snapped up, then his father was walking into the room, bags in tow. His short brown hair wasn’t curly like Peter’s, but his eyes were brown and so much like his own. He had his father’s eyes.

“Hey, there, kiddo,” his father said, dropping the bags and walking over to scoop up Peter in his arms. He spun him around before nibbling kisses along his cheek and neck as he tickled him. Little Peter squealed with joy as a tear slipped down older Peter’s cheek.

The three of them looked so happy, and the reality of the life he’d missed out on began to settle over him. He felt a stab of anger that it was taken away. It wasn’t fair. He should have had a lifetime with his family, but instead, he got Jack and the nightmares that came with it.

His father should have been there to teach him to ride a bike. His mother should have been there to make him pancakes. They were taken away too soon, just like his Uncle Ben and Aunt May. His mind lost focus as his emotions took control, and the hologram around him shifted. The comforting scene of his family twisted to become the cold, dark street where Ben had died. Peter stared in horror as his uncle fell back, a gunshot wound to the chest, gasping for breath as he clung to life.

“No, no, no, no!” Peter said, shaking his head. It was all so real. He went to Ben’s side and fell to his knees. His grasp on reality began to slip. “Please, not this, not again!”

His breaths were coming too fast, and he grew lightheaded. The blood was everywhere—it was too much. He looked at his uncle’s face. Peter never realized how scared the man looked, his eyes wide with fear. How had he never noticed before?

Choking for air, Peter pleaded. “Turn it off!”

The hologram flickered and dissolved around him, and Peter pulled the glasses from his face, tossing them to the side. He hung his head as he tried to shake the image from his mind. It had felt so real. Every detail was there. He could almost smell the blood.

Hands gripped his shoulders, then he was being pulled into a warm chest, arms wrapping around him. The familiar smell of Tony’s cologne grounded him, chasing away the memory of the pungent scent of blood. He could still hear Ben’s rasping breaths every time he drew his own, and it made his breathing even more ragged, reminding him even more of Ben—a vicious circle.

Tony threaded his fingers in Peter’s hair, holding him close. He shushed him, murmuring quiet words of comfort, apologizing for not shutting it down sooner. Peter melted into him, clinging to shoulders, hands bunching the fabric of Tony’s shirt.

“I killed him,” Peter said, face pressed into Tony’s chest. “It was my fault.”

Tony pulled him closer, pressing a kiss against his hair. “No, no, Peter. You didn’t. It was awful and wrong, but it wasn’t your fault. It was never your fault.”

Peter choked back a sob, shaking his head. “But I let the guy go. If I had stopped him earlier, Ben would still be alive.”

“Hey, calm down,” Tony said, rubbing the back of Peter’s neck. “You didn’t know. It wasn’t your responsibility. You were only a kid—you still are.”

Peter sagged into Tony’s arm, sniffling and burrowing his face into Tony’s chest. “It hurts so much.”

“I know it does, kiddo. I know it does,” Tony whispered. He rested his chin on Peter’s head. “But you’re not alone. You got me and Pep—and the team. You have Bucky. We’re all in your corner and would take your pain if we could.” Tony pressed a kiss to his hair. “I’d do anything to take the pain away.”

Peter drew a stuttering breath, trying to let it out slowly. He felt safe in Tony’s arms. It was a feeling he was still getting used to. Tony’s shirt was wet from his tears, clinging to his skin. Peter pulled back, drying his eyes on his sleeve. He felt tired and drained. 

Tony drew back, ducking his head to get a look at Peter. “I don’t think I should ask if you’re okay because I know you’re not, but are you okay?”

Peter blinked at him a few times, taking stock. He was far from okay, but the heart-crushing pain had eased, so it was a slight improvement. “I’m—I don’t know what I am. Better than I was a minute ago but worse than when I woke up this morning.” 

Tony nodded. “Fair enough.” He shifted, starting to get up. “How about we get off the floor and head up to the penthouse? We could bake some cookies and bury our feelings with food.”

“That’s not very healthy, and since when do you bake?”

Tony pushed himself to his feet, and Peter followed.

“I’ll have you know I’m an excellent baker. Baking is like another form of science.”

Peter laughed, shaking his head. “Okay, so Martha Stewart is a scientist?”

“Have you seen her bake? Definitely a scientist.”

Baking with Tony went as well as Peter suspected. If cookie making was a science, Tony was the janitor at the university that taught it—except a janitor might not make the kind of mess Tony was. The kitchen was a disaster. Flour coated every surface, and there was even some in Tony’s hair. There was a handprint comprised of egg and flour on Tony’s shirt, and his pants weren’t fairing much better. Peter held the sticky wooden spoon and stirred the bowl as Tony dumped in a cupful of chocolate chips. Somehow Peter had managed to remain mostly clean. Mess aside, Peter appreciated the distraction cooking brought. His thoughts were on mixing ingredients instead of Ben.

“And I think it's done,” Tony announced from beside Peter as peered into the bowl. “We just need to spoon them out and bake, then we can eat.”

Tony rummaged through the cabinets, looking for the pans, which he soon produced with a flourish. Shoving a pile of eggshells aside, Tony put it on the counter. With careful instruction, Tony helped Peter drop the batter by spoonfuls onto the tray. Peter plucked a stray chocolate chip from the side of the bowl.

“How long before they're done?”

“We’ll check them in ten minutes.”

A half an hour later, the cookies were done and cooled enough for them to eat. Gathering a plate of cookies, Tony led Peter to the living room. They settled down beside each other and munched on their creations. Without the distraction of cooking, Peter's thought quickly took a turn for the worse. He swallowed the last bite of his cookie with a frown.

“Pete?”

He looked at Tony, and for a moment, he saw him in Ben’s place. Peter's stomach dropped, and he paled. Licking his lips, he swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat. “I just—nevermind.”

“Nuh-uh, you don't get off that easy. What's going on in that head of yours?”

Peter's gaze flicked to his hands, which were clasped in his lap. “Seeing my family, especially Ben, it scared me.”

Tony was quiet for a moment. “That's understandable.”

Peter glanced over at Tony. “I mean, yeah, I was scared when Ben died, but today made me realize how easy it would be to lose you, too.”

“Oh, kid. I'm not planning on going anywhere anytime soon, and if anything did ever happen to me, and that's a big if, you’re not going to be alone. You've got too many people who care for that to happen.”

Peter's brows pulled together as his fingers twisted in knots. “Can we—I mean, when my aunt and I used to have bad nights after Ben died, we'd camp out in the living room. Do you think—could we do that tonight?” He frowned. “I don't want to be alone.”

“Yeah, we can do that.” Tony reached an arm around Peter and pulled him close. Peter curled up into his chest. “We can definitely do that.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger Warning:** There is **torture** in this chapter and some violence. It starts out fluffy and then things get intense.

Peter woke in a tangle of blankets on the floor, one leg half on the couch. At some point during the night, the blanket fort he and Tony had built succumbed to his tossing and turning. Despite an ache in his neck from sleeping at an odd angle, he felt rested. Peter had feared his night would be haunted by ghosts from his past, but with Tony beside him, the memories were kept at Bay. The only dreams he could remember were pleasant ones, except for the weird one involving giant squids taking over Manhattan, but he blamed that on their late-night cartoon binge.

Wriggling his body, he pulled himself free from the cocoon of blankets and sat up, leaning back against the couch. Blinking, he looked around, noticing that Tony was gone. The smell of bacon perked him up, and he pushed himself to his feet, tripping over the blankets as he stood. Peter looked toward the kitchen and saw Tony by the stove, back to him, and Pepper was sitting at the breakfast bar, eating yogurt. He smiled at the scene and began to make his way over to them. Pepper put her spoon in the yogurt and watched him approached, a warm smile on her face.

“Morning, Peter,” she said. “How’d you sleep?”

Peter stretched his arms back, arching his neck as he yawned. “Really good, actually.” He dropped his arms at his sides and took a seat beside Pepper.

She resumed eating and tapped the screen of her tablet a few times with her left hand. “Tony, don’t forget that I need the new prototypes for the Starkphone this week. The board is itching to get them into production—the competition is releasing an upgrade next month.”

Tony glanced over his shoulder. “Have I ever let you down?”

“Let me down? No. Procrastinated to the point you were jogging into the meeting two hours late looking like you hadn’t slept in days? Yes,” she said, pointing her spoon at him. “Don’t wait until the last minute. I hate covering for you with the board.”

Peter laughed, enjoying the domestic atmosphere.

“Kid, grab a plate, and get over here. Breakfast is up,” Tony called over his shoulder, and Peter quickly hopped off his stool and went to the cabinet.

“Is everyone eating?” he asked, hand hovering over the plates. He looked to Pepper, who shook her head, waving him off.

“I’m good, sweetie,” Pepper said, “but make sure Tony eats something. I’ve got to head down to HR and meet some prospective assistants.” She got up and disposed of the container and dropped the spoon in the sink, stopping to lean against Tony and kiss his cheek. “I’ll see you tonight. Love you, honey.” Pepper turned to Peter, walking over to him and running her fingers through his hair. “You really need a trim.”

Peter shrugged, taking two plates from the shelf. “I like it.”

She laughed. “Keep your messy hair, then. Remember to finish up your schoolwork. It needs to be done by Friday.”

“Yes, mom,” he teased.

Unlike the first time when he’d slipped and called her mom, this time, he meant it, but that didn’t mean he was free from anxiety. He wanted to get past his fears, though, so he pushed aside bubbling nervousness and met her gaze, offering a hesitant smile.

The corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled, and she reached up, cupping the back of his head and pulling him toward her. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, her other hand resting on his arm. Drawing back, Peter saw that her eyes were glistening with tears. Pepper brushed a stray hair from his eyes.

“I love you, Peter.”

“I—I love you, too.”

* * *

Tony double-checked his systems one last time while Bruce spoke to Steve and Bucky in the containment room. They were almost ready to start. He wasn’t sure how many sessions it was going to take, or if it was even going to work. It was uncharted territory. The idea was simple enough, access the memories of the when the triggers were planted and alter them slightly. Hopefully, by doing so, the response would change. There was a real chance, though, that they could inadvertently trigger him into the Winter Soldier mindset. If it happened, Tony just hoped Steve would be able to bring him out of it. They were basically flying blind as to what to expect if that happened.

Peter leaned next to Tony, eyeing the tablet in his hand. “Emergency shutdown?”

“Yeah, I tweaked the programming—just in case something unexpected happens. I want to be able to override faster than I could with you.”

“Good idea.”

Bruce stepped into the observation room, pulling his glasses off and rubbing his eyes. Putting them back on, he rubbed a hand over his mouth. “I think we’re as ready as we’re going to get. I’ve gone over the safety protocol with both of them and went over what to expect. There’s not much else we can do to prepare.”

Tony glanced through the glass at Steve and Bucky. Steve had a hand on Bucky’s bicep as he quietly reassured him. Tony couldn’t see Bucky’s face, his hair hanging like a curtain around his face, but his posture was tense. Tony couldn’t blame the man for being apprehensive. He was about to face some of his worst memories. That wasn’t something done lightly.

He picked up the glasses from the table and twirled them between his fingers before passing them to Bruce. The doctor took them with a nod. Peter kept his distance, standing by the wall, but his gaze was locked on Bucky. Tony still wasn’t convinced that Peter should be there for this, but he had learned a while ago to pick his battles. He just hoped that he’d made the right choice by not fighting this one harder.

Bruce delivered the glasses to Bucky, which he accepted with a solemn expression. Tony watched as Steve said a quick goodbye, and then much to Tony’s confusion, pressed his lips to Bucky’s forehead. He would have to unpack that later. Clearly, some details had been left out of his father’s stories and his high school history lessons. With a final brush of fingers against Bucky’s cheek, Steve ducked out of the containment room, locking the door behind him.

“Friday, you good on vitals?”

“Monitoring as we speak, boss.”

Tony nodded, then glanced at Bruce and Steve before his gaze fell on Peter. He sighed, trying to push aside his concern at having Peter there. He turned back to the glass, seeing Bucky sitting in the chair.

“Friday, patch us through to the containment room and keep communication open,” he said. “Okay, Buck-a-roo. We’re ready when you are. Just take it slow like we talked about. We need anything related to the words that you got; the earlier, the better.”

The corners of Bucky’s mouth twitched into a frown, then he nodded. Nothing happened for a moment, and Steve began to fidget, shaking his head.

“Why isn’t it working?” Steve asked.

Bruce answered him. “We don’t know the degree of damage that’s been done to his brain. It might take a few minutes for him to work through things. Give him time.”

Another minute passed, and Bucky stood, hands clenched in fists at his sides. He began to pace the room, stopping after a moment and looking through the glass at them. Tony was about to ask him if he wanted to try again later when the hologram activated, and the room began to shift. Gray concrete walls reached around him, and Bucky turned to look at the far wall. That was when Tony saw him, the echo of Bucky’s self, curled up in the corner, wearing rags for clothes. His face was drawn, and he was repeating the same thing over and over, his name and serial number. His voice was rough, and lips cracked. He stared straight ahead, eyes vacant. Tony realized this must have been close to his fall.

A large metal door behind their Bucky opened, and he turned to look, flinching back. Past Bucky continued reciting his name, only his eyes flicked to the man who entered the room. Tony glanced at Steve and saw the pain etched on his face. Bruce looked ill. Peter’s face was blank as he watched, and Tony began to regret letting him stay. They all knew things were about to get bad. Swallowing, Tony looked back to the room, watching as another man joined the first, and soon they were dragging Bucky out of the door.

The room morphed into a new scene. Bucky was strapped to a table, his clothes off. Uniformed men stood around the room, talking casually as Bucky struggled. Tony didn’t want to watch. A man dressed in white stepped into the room, pulling a trolley of tools behind him.  On the table, Bucky began to struggle harder, shouting at the men, spewing venom with his words. It didn’t stop the doctor. He took what looked like some type of gag from the table and forced it into Bucky’s mouth. Tony had to give Bucky credit. He didn’t just roll over and give up.  

Tony looked at Peter. “Kid, I respect that you want to be here, but this isn't something you should see.”

Peter's gaze flicked from Bucky's memory to Tony. He blinked a few times before shaking his head lightly. “I can handle it.”

“I’m not asking, Peter.”

“You said I could stay.”

Tony shook his head. “You still shouldn't be seeing this.”

“I'm fine, Tony. If it gets too much, I'll go,” Peter said. “Promise.”

Sighing, Tony turned back to face the glass. The doctor had begun torturing him, cutting away strips of skin as another man repeated the same few words over and over. Longing. Rusted. Seventeen. Bucky howled from behind the gag, slamming his head against the table. It didn't deter them, though. They just continued cutting and repeating the words. Blood slicked Bucky’s skin and dripped from the table. Tony felt sick watching the scene unfold. He knew torture, he'd been tortured, but this was so much worse than anything Tony had been through. He couldn’t understand how Bucky hadn't given up yet.

“You will submit,” the man in the uniform said before nodding to the doctor, who began attaching electrodes to him.

Present time Bucky began to shake as the memory played.

Tony cleared his throat. “Bucky, you know better than me, but I think now might be a good time to try to change the memory, just like we went over. It's not real. Change it to something else—how you wish it would have gone.”

The only acknowledgment Tony received from Bucky was a brief glance in his direction. The memory didn't change, though, or at least Tony didn't think it did. The doctor turned on the machine the electrodes were attached to, making Bucky arch off the table with a muffled scream. The man in uniform got close to his face and repeated the three words. Bucky howled behind the gag. The man instructed the doctor to increase the voltage. Bucky urinated on himself, and Tony had to look away.

“Tony,” Peter said, making Tony turn to him. Peter was pale and shaking. “I think I need to get some air.”

Tony would be lying if he said he wasn't relieved that Peter was leaving. The things they were doing to him—it wasn't something anyone should have ever gone through and not something Peter should see.

“Why don't you head up to the penthouse. I can have Pep meet you there.”

Peter swallowed, nodding a few times. “Yeah, maybe that's a good idea.”

Peter ducked out of the room, leaving Tony, Bruce, and Steve to keep watch. Tony turned his attention back to the containment room, swearing when he saw their Bucky hyperventilating by the wall as the torture continued to unfold. Bucky had control over the memory. If he tried, he should be able to alter events, change how it happened in his mind. Easier said than done, though.

“Steve, try talking to him,” Tony said. “For this to work, we need to change his memory. Help him.”

Steve ran a hand over his mouth, nodding. “Yeah, I can do that.” He put his palm against the glass door. “Buck, it's Steve. I know you're probably overwhelmed, but we really need you to focus. Don't let them win. This is your chance to change things. Make a new memory. Don't let the words control you.”

Bucky’s eyes were rimmed with red when he looked up at Steve. He blinked a few times before turning his gaze to his past self that was twitching on the table. His brow furrowed, and Tony was pretty sure he was trying to alter events.

Tony held his breath as he watched, his mind full of silent encouragements. He wanted to see Bucky succeed. After seeing what had been done to him, after just witnessing a glimpse of the horrors, any reservations Tony had about Bucky being responsible for the things he'd done disappeared. No one deserved the things that had been done to him.

The memory skipped back and began to repeat. Tony grabbed the tablet while asking Friday for a status check. Everything was in order. Bucky was doing it. The scene was back to when the electrodes were being placed.

Tony heard Bruce suck in a breath.

“You okay?” Tony asked, glancing at him, checking for any sign of green.

Bruce looked at him, a frown marring his features. “I thought I could do this.” He looked back at the containment room. “I knew it would be bad, but seeing it—it’s intense.”

“Do you need to walk it off?”

Bruce drew an unsteady breath, glancing at Tony. “I'm okay. If it gets too much, I'll leave.”

Tony nodded. “Doesn't make you any less for needing a breather. This isn't easy stuff to see.”

“Tony, look,” Steve said, pointing at the room.

Looking into the containment room, Tony saw the scene had changed. In the minute he was looking away, Bucky had taken control. The Bucky on the table had broken his restraints and begun fighting his captures. The doctor was dead, and Bucky had the man in uniform who’d been repeating the words by the throat.

“I will not comply,” the Bucky from his memory said. “I will not submit. Longing, rusted, seventeen. Those words mean rebellion, freedom.”

He threw the man against the wall, then grabbed a scalpel from where it had fallen on the floor. He approached the slumped form of the man. He grabbed the man by the hair, wrenching his head back. He took the blade and drew it slowly, purposely, across his throat before stabbing it into his chest. Blood sprayed from the wound, and Bucky smiled. It sent a shiver down Tony’s back. It was an image that Tony knew would haunt him.

The scene dissolved, leaving the Bucky they knew standing alone in the room, his chest heaving. Steve yanked the door open and went to his side. Tony breathed out a sigh. None of what had happened was okay. It was so far from okay that he didn’t know the words to describe it. He was angry at what he’d seen. He wanted to build a time machine so he could go back and hunt Hydra down himself, make them pay. Bucky deserved justice. Tony watched as Bucky sank into Steve’s arms. They had a long way to go, and at the rate they were going, everyone would need a therapist before they were done.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> plot happens, like where did that come from? Hope you like this chapter. It was fun to write.

After the third session of BARF, Tony was struggling not to hole up in his workshop and drink. The things he’d seen—nothing could have prepared him for that. He had thought the first session was rough, but the following showed him memories of things that were beyond nightmares. Honestly, Tony hadn’t slept much since they started. He had no idea how Barnes was even functioning with all that in his head. It made Tony want to crawl out of his skin.

There was no doubt in his mind that Bucky wasn’t responsible for what was done after he fell into Hydra’s hands. He’d fought harder than most people would have. It wasn't just the slow and agonizing sessions of physical torture that broke him. They’d taunted him about Steve, showing him the headlines that his friend was dead and no one was coming for him. Tony wondered if that was the point that Barnes had begun to falter. It was understandable. Steve was his only real hope for rescue, as slim as it was. Losing that probably tipped him over the edge, stripping away the last of his will.

Tony unwrapped his hands and walked over to the bench on the side of the gym. He’d been trying to work off some of his pent of emotion on the speed bag. It didn’t really work. The feeling of helplessness over Bucky’s situation itched beneath his skin. He wasn’t even sure why it was so important to him. Maybe it was because he felt like he owed it to Steve, or perhaps it was that he didn’t want to let Peter down. 

As he chewed on the thought, he realized it was more profound than that. He genuinely cared. His hesitance to trust Bucky had faded as Tony watched his memories unfold. He wasn’t worried about Clint and Natasha’s warnings. Bucky wasn’t what Hydra made him—not anymore—and if the treatments worked, he would never be that again.

Tony was sitting on the bench, drinking a bottle of water, when Clint walked into the gym. The archer had his hands in the pockets of his jeans, an oversized black hoodie hiding his frame. A bruise touched his cheek, just beneath his eye, making the area look puffy and irritated. The bags under his eyes weren't doing much for him, combined with the way his hair stuck up in every direction, he hadn’t been having a good time of things either. He stopped in front of Tony, his shoulders sagging as he sighed.

“What’s up, Legolas?”

"Not much."

A few seconds passed, and Tony spoke up. “You okay?”

Clint lifted his gaze, looking at Tony with a shrug. “Yeah, other than the shiner, though I guess I had it coming.”

Tony lifted a brow, head tilting to the side. “Did you trip over your bow again?”

“Nah, Nat and I had a fight.”

“Training fight or fight, fight?”

“Fight, fight. She told me her thoughts on the Bucky situation, and I disagreed. Things got a little heated, and before I knew it, she was smacking me with a shoe.”

Tony huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Well, that’s different. I thought you two always agreed on everything.”

Clint shrugged again. “Yeah, after we both had a chance to cool off, we talked, and I guess I can see her side. Maybe I was jumping to the worst conclusions.”

“And what was her side?”

“That Bucky’s not who he was before—not who trained her and not the Winter Soldier. If you guys really can neutralize the words, then I guess he’s not really a threat. Maybe I should give the guy a chance.”

Tony nodded, leaning his arms on his knees. He looked at Clint. “If you’d seen the things they’d done to him, I think you might have more sympathy. It wasn’t pretty.”

Clint’s mouth twitched downward. “That bad?”

“Worse. They turned torture into some sadistic artform. Some of that shit will be giving me nightmares for years to come.”

“Shit.” Clint shook his head. “Things between him and Nat are weird. I don’t really get it, but then again, she told me it wasn’t my problem to get.”

“Weird how?”

Clint walked over to the bench and sat beside Tony. “At first, I thought it was fear, you know. I mean, that dude trained her, and we both know that wasn’t pretty. Plus, he shot her once. I thought it was reasonable for her to be wary.”

Tony leaned back against the wall. “Makes sense.”

“Yeah, and I tried to support her about it, but I ended up on the wrong side of a shoe.”

“What did you say to her?”

Clint shrugged. “I might have offered to pop him with an arrow.”

“What the fuck, Clint!”

“Chill, I wasn’t really serious, but it got us talking, and pretty soon, I realized she wasn’t really afraid of him, more worried about him, I guess. Don’t repeat this, but with the way she talked about him, I almost think there was something between them.”

Tony laughed. “Maybe once, but I’m pretty sure he’s got his sights set on someone else now.”

Clint’s brow scrunched, eyes widening just a fraction. “Who?”

“Steve.”

“Cap? Shit. I didn’t see that one coming.”

“Me either, but you know, seeing them together, I kinda get it. It’s like watching two puzzle pieces clicking together.”

“Huh.” Clint leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Good for them.”

* * *

Peter had avoided Bucky's treatments after the first day. He felt bad for not sticking it out, but Bucky's memories had stirred up things he tried hard to lock away. Though he hadn't experienced what Bucky had, he had suffered some awful things at the hands of Jack. 

He wasn't sure why Bucky's memories had churned up so much in him, but they had. Fragments of things Jack had said, flashes of the abuse, encroached on his day. It was stupid. Bucky's torture and the abuse Peter suffered were totally different things. It annoyed him that he was caught in the past again.

Peter kicked a rock off the walking path and into the grass. Sighing, he looked around the park. No one was around. Probably because of the weather. The sky was mottled gray, rain likely in the future. A warm breeze caught the trees, rustling the leaves. He wasn't in his suit. He was just plain old Peter Parker for a change. He’d been taking walks as himself a lot lately. He hadn’t been able to get into the right mindset to be Spider-Man. 

As he neared the edge of the park, his spidey sense prickled the back of his neck and raised the hairs on his arms. His brows pulled together as he did a quick spin, taking in his surroundings. A plastic bag on the ground caught the breeze, drifting into the grass. He frowned as he watched it for a moment before looking back up toward the street. It was then that he saw them. Across the street from the park were two dark blue vans with tinted windows. He eyed them curiously. 

A warning shiver passed through him, and he got ready to run. He began to walk towards the gate to the park. He considered calling Tony, but he didn’t want to worry him. It could be nothing, but then again, his senses were demanding it was. He glanced down at the watch on his hand. It had a panic button. He ran his thumb over the button. If he needed to, he’d call.

He hurried his pace, keeping an eye on the vans. Just as he thought that maybe his senses were off, he caught the sharp, accented voice of a man. He turned to the sound and saw three men in black tactical gear approaching. He tried to play it calm, but on the inside he was panicking. He wasn’t wearing his suit, so he couldn’t fight, not like usual. He wasn’t Spider-Man today.

The men seemed to multiply, and Peter glanced over his shoulder to see he was surrounded.

“Take him alive,” one of the men said. “We need him to draw the soldier out.”

Swallowing, Peter reached over to his wrist, fingers fumbling the watch. Finding the panic button, he pressed it and hoped that Tony would find him in time.

* * *

Tony stood in the observation room as Bucky sorted through his memories. Steve was beside him, but Bruce wasn’t there. He’d needed to clear his head after they’d watched another round of torture. Thankfully, Peter hadn’t asked to be there again. Tony had noticed that Peter was shaken after the first session, but they hadn’t talked about it yet, neither of them good with feelings, though Tony was getting better. At least he thought so, anyway.

“Alright, Bucky,” Tony said. “We’ve been at this for an hour, and we haven’t made any progress. What’s the holdup?”

“Tony!” Steve said. “He’s trying. Give him a break.”

Sighing, he ran a hand over his mouth. “I know, but something’s wrong. He’s been bouncing between memories for an hour now and not to anything we can use.”

Steve clenched his jaw, staring at Tony for a moment before deflating. “Yeah, alright, just let me talk to him, though.”

Tony gestured to the containment room. “Be my guest.”

Steve tucked his hands in his pockets and approached the door, stopping just at the glass. “Buck, you doing okay in there?”

Bucky’s mouth was set in a tight line. His gaze met Steve’s, then after a moment, he gave a short nod.

“Good, we’re almost done, Buck, you’ve done so well, but we need you to try to clear your head and get back on track.”

Bucky's brow wrinkled, and the corners of his mouth tugged downward. He blinked a few times, licking his lips. “Yeah, I can try.”

Bucky’s gaze flicked to Tony, his eyes boring through him. His gaze was so intense that it made Tony shift nervously. He looked more haunted than usual. Unable to hold his gaze, Tony looked away.

A few minutes later, the hologram came to life. The scene was similar to something they’d seen before, Bucky dressed in tactical gear, ready for a mission. A man stepped into the room, a file in hand. Guards covered the door, another stood beside Bucky.

“We have a mission for you, soldier.”

Bucky blinked at the man but otherwise didn’t respond. The man held out the folder to him, waiting for Bucky to take it. Bucky eyed it for a moment before accepting it, flipping it open.

Tony looked at Steve. “What does this have to do with anything?”

Steve shrugged and continued to watch. Tony sighed and returned his attention to the containment room.

Bucky was looking at the file, but Tony couldn’t see what it was. Present Bucky stood near them, looking stricken. He was close enough to read the file, and whatever he saw upset him.

The file was closed and handed back to the man, then the memory shifted.

“Not again,” Tony complained. “Maybe we should call it a day. He can’t focus.”

“Clearly, he needs to work through something. I think we should let him,” Steve said.

The scene was different than anything from before. It was nighttime, outside along a narrow road lined with trees that reached for the sky. Something about it made Tony’s stomach drop. It seemed familiar in some way. The memory shifted. Bucky was climbing off a motorcycle, a car wrecked against a tree beside him. Tony’s heart squeezed in his chest. He knew that car. His lungs burned for oxygen, but he couldn’t make them work, too overcome by the scene playing out in front of him. A man, his father, crawled from the car, and Tony watched in horror as Bucky grabbed his father by the hair and yanked him up. He couldn’t blink, couldn’t look away as Bucky killed him, then moved onto his mother.

“Tony!” Steve said from somewhere beside, but Tony couldn’t look. He was too consumed by the images. “Tony! Turn it off!”

Tony’s hands curled into fists, and he ripped his gaze away from the scene just as it ended. “Did you know?”

Steve put up his hands. “I didn’t. I swear, Tony. I didn’t know.”

Tony snapped his gaze back to the containment room, his chest heaving with every breath. Everything in him told him to go in there and show Bucky the same mercy he showed his parents—none. His palms stung where his nails dug into flesh. His jaw was clenched, working in a rhythm as remembered his mother’s face. Bucky had murdered her.

A hand touched his shoulder, and he yanked himself away, bumping into the table and knocking the chair sideways. He had a fist raised and ready to swing. Blinking, he saw Steve standing in front of him, hands out at his sides.

“Tony, I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now, but you need to calm down.”

“Calm down! Calm down? He killed my mom!”

He tried to suck in a breath, but it hitched and caught. He was shaking, every muscle in his body begging to seek revenge. Steve stood between him the door to the containment room.

“Move.”

Steve shook his head, hands still at this sides. “You know it wasn’t him—not really. You saw what they did to him.”

Tony took looked at Bucky, whose gaze was on the floor. The way his shoulders shook, Tony almost thought he was crying. Tony turned back to Steve, hands flexing in and out of fists at his sides. “She didn’t deserve to die like that.”

“No, she didn’t.”

Before he could respond, Friday interrupted them. “Boss, Peter’s panic alarm has been activated.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter didn't want to be written without a fight. I'm pretty sure there aren't a bunch of typos, but I've deleted and added so much in the last day that it's possible stray words are just hanging around where they don't belong, so sorry in advance. Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

Bucky couldn’t bring himself to look at Tony. As soon as he'd begun to poke around in his memories, he’d known something awful would be uncovered. He just had no idea how bad it would be. All the times he’d had the feeling of deja vu around Tony, now he knew why. He had his father’s chin and his mother’s eyes. Tony was familiar because he’d murdered his parents. 

He had no right being in the tower, living on Tony’s dime—not after what he’d done. It didn’t get much worse than killing someone's parents. Tony had every right to seek revenge, and he hoped he did. He deserved whatever punishment Tony deemed fit.

Bucky couldn’t will himself to move as he watched Tony and Steve through the glass. Tony looked angry, rightfully so, and Bucky could see the tremors in his hands as he motioned to Steve. He seemed almost feral, and when their eyes met for a moment, all could see what Tony’s mother looking back at him. His grief-stricken expression hit Bucky hard, making him look away.

Tony’s voice cut through the closed door. “Calm down! Calm down? He killed my mom!”

He remembered the way the life left his mother’s body, how her eyes glazed over and became lifeless. He’d done that. He felt like throwing up. Tears gathered in his eyes, and he began to shake, overwhelmed by the past and the present. He didn’t deserve forgiveness and didn't expect it. If Tony came into the room to fight him, he wouldn’t fight back. He would accept whatever Tony sent his way. It was only fair. If someone had killed his ma like that, he’d kill the man, too.

The rest of their conversation was static in his ears. A sob caught in his throat, and the tears that had been threatening to fall finally did. He felt alone and afraid—more than he had in years. Tony had been willing to help him, they had all given him a home, and now the truth was out. He was a monster. There was no changing that, whether they removed the words or not. He wondered if Steve would forgive but realized that, of course, he would. Steve was too good. Bucky didn’t deserve good things, though. He felt toxic for the things he’d done.

Friday’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Boss, Peter’s panic alarm has been activated.”

That made Bucky’s head snap up. Through the glass, he saw Tony’s face go slack.

“Get his last known location and vitals up for me. Call his phone, patch me through to his watch. I don’t care. Just give me something!” Tony snapped.

Steve was still standing with his back to the door of the containment room. His hands were up, turned with his palms out, facing Tony. “Tony?”

The man glared at Steve, throwing a hand up to silence him.

“His tracker isn’t moving. No vitals to report,” Friday replied. “He doesn’t appear to be wearing the watch.”

“Shit.” Tony shoved the chair back toward the desk, making it crash loudly against it, then stormed out the door. Steve turned, running a hand through his hair as he looked at Bucky, seeming to seek silent permission to follow. Bucky waved for him to go ahead. With a nod, Steve followed after Tony.

Bucky closed his hands into fists and set his jaw as he tried to get a grip on his emotions. He wanted, needed, to help them, anything could have happened to Peter, but he didn’t know how welcomed his assistance would be. Fear trickled through his veins like ice water as he considered the reasons Peter would use his panic button. The kid never asked for help, not even when he was bleeding out. That meant that whatever had happened must have been bad. 

A dark thought niggled at the back of his mind, a thought he didn’t want to entertain. He tried to tamp it down, but it remained. What if Hydra had taken him? To think of Peter in their hands made his stomach drop. He knew the things they were capable of, and thinking of them being done to him—he was forced to swallow back the rising bile in his throat. Taking a sharp breath, he marched out of the room, asking Friday where to find Steve and Tony.

* * *

“Tony—” Steve started, but Tony cut him off with a head shake as he took the corner and walked towards the elevators. He needed to be in his suit yesterday. He didn't have time to waste. Anything could have happened to Peter.

"Would you wait?" 

“Don’t!" Tony stopped, spinning to face Steve while pointing his finger at him. "What happened in there—" Tony stopped to collect himself. He was far from over what had occurred. He was raw and on edge. "I can’t do this, Steve. My kid’s in trouble, and he comes first.”

Steve drew a breath, pressing his lips in a tight line before nodding. "I understand."

"Bullshit,” Tony said as he turned and hurried to the elevator, stepping inside. Steve followed after him.

“You want me to get the others?” Steve asked as the doors closed.

“I don’t know. Maybe. Yeah, do that. I’ll go ahead and check things out. Hopefully, this is just a big misunderstanding." 

But from the heavy feeling in his gut, he knew they weren't that lucky. Something was very wrong. Peter would never joke about his panic alarm, and the fact he used it was terrifying. Peter never asked for help.

Twenty minutes later and Tony was surveying the park, his suit standing guard a few feet away. Peter's watch and cellphone were in his hands, and there was no sign of Peter. It was hard to tell what had happened, but he would figure it out—he had to.

He inspected the grass. There were no scuff marks from a struggle, nothing was out of place. Whatever had gone down, it didn’t look like Peter had fought. Tony didn't know whether to be relieved or worried that he’d gone willingly. He did know that Peter had left without his suit, so Tony assumed that he hadn’t wanted to reveal his powers. This was one time Tony wished the kid hadn't been so concerned about his identity. He should have fought. 

Walking toward the gate, he kept his eye on the ground for anything that could help him. A car horn blasted, and he lifted his head to look. His eye caught a traffic camera just a few meters from the entrance to the park.

He touched his glasses. "Friday, get all the security feeds from the area, especially that camera there. Mark the time the alert came in and play it back from there. Also, forward it onto the team." 

Footage of the street appeared on the HUD of his glasses. The first thing he noticed was the two blue vans parked alongside the road. They had no plates, and the windows were tinted. He got a sick feeling in his stomach. They might be dealing with someone organized. 

"Skip ahead one minute."

The video jumped, and he saw it. Men in tactical gear dragging Peter to the van. He looked for identifying marks on their clothes and equipment but saw none. Peter was twisting in their grip, but not using his strength. He was holding back. They shouted for him to get in the van, and as they tried to shove him in, Peter kicked off the bumper and pushed back. A few people paused to look, but no one stopped to help. One of the men produced a syringe from a pocket in his vest and came around behind Peter. He stabbed it into Peter's neck. A moment later, Peter went slack, and they stuffed him in the van. The man dropped the syringe on the ground before they all got in and took off.

Ripping his glasses off, Tony jogged over to the spot across the street, dodging cars as he went. He scanned the ground, looking for his prize. He found it a second later. The syringe was lying beside the sidewalk, some of the contents still in it. It wasn't much, but it was something to go on. Maybe finding out what they'd dosed him with would help find them. 

Tony had Friday alert the team that he was returning to the tower without Peter. His kid had been kidnapped.

* * *

Peter’s head bounced off the concrete floor as he was thrown to the ground.

“Thanks, that felt great!” he said as he squeezed his eyes shut and rolled onto his side, the cold floor chilling him.

Footsteps shuffled toward the door, then it shut with a clunk, lock clicking into place.

Blinking a few times, Peter looked around, taking in his surroundings. The room was barren and cold, fluorescent lights humming overhead. A camera sat nestled in the corner of the ceiling, red light blinking as it watched him. He scowled in its direction.

His hands were cuffed in front of him, the metal biting into the skin of his wrist. He twisted his hands, wishing he could just break the cuffs, but his promise to Bucky echoed in his mind. He couldn’t reveal his powers—not unless he had no other choice. Though his captors hadn’t named themselves, he suspected they were Hydra. It was the only thing that made sense. The leader had said something about using him as bait for the soldier. Peter only knew one person that they could be referring to—Bucky—which meant that Hydra were his captors. Great. Just when he thought things couldn’t get worse.

Being careful of his cuffed hands, he pushed himself up to sit and shimmied himself backward toward the wall. Reaching it, he leaned against it. The room didn’t do much for his spirits. The gray paint on the walls was peeling, and there were no windows. He didn’t know how long he’d been out, so he had no idea what time of day it was. They’d dosed him with something strong before shoving him the van, a hood over his head. He had no way of knowing where he was, and neither did Tony. They’d taken his watch, along with his phone.

Time seemed to drag by with no way to measure it. It felt like days had passed, but he knew it had probably only been hours. He eyed the door, considering an escape. He could tear the door from its hinges, knock it down, or yank it open, but all those things would expose him. He thumped his head back against the wall, immediately regretting it. His head was still sore from bouncing off the floor when he’d been thrown in the cell. And that’s what it was—a cell. Maybe not a traditional one with bars, but it served the same purpose. He just wondered what they were planning on doing with him.

His shoulders ached from having his hands cuffed in front of him, and he shifted, trying to stretch the tight muscles. He began counting the blinks of the red light on the camera to pass the time. After a while, he lost count and started again. Time ticked by a sluggish pace. Leaning his head back against the wall, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep. He had a feeling he was in for the long haul.

* * *

When Tony returned to the tower, he went straight to the conference room that was subbing as a command center. He walked into the room, clicking the door closed behind him. His eye caught Pepper first. She looked fierce, the sleeves of her blouse were rolled up, and her hair was tied back in a ponytail. Her face softened when she saw him.

“Tell me you found something,” she said.

Tony glanced at the others in the room before settling his gaze back on her. He produced the syringe, holding it up for everyone to see. “Friday should have sent the footage over, it doesn’t show much, but I did find this. We should analyze its contents.”

Bruce straightened in his chair. “They drugged him?”

“Yeah, and with something strong enough to put him down. Though how long it kept him down, we don’t know.”

Natasha looked up from the laptop she was working on. “I agree about analyzing the contents. Certain groups are known for what they use. The fact they used a sedative instead of brute force narrows it down a bit already.”

Movement toward the back of the room caught Tony’s eye—Bucky. A surge of adrenaline shot through Tony’s veins, his flight or fight response kicking in record time. He tried to push it aside and hold his ground, meeting Bucky’s gaze. The soldier averted his eyes, looking to the ground. Tony couldn’t help the little feeling of satisfaction at cowing the man with only a look.

He glanced back at Natasha. “I’ll have a report on the contents within the hour. In the meantime, start compiling a list of possible groups who could be behind this.”

“Consider it done.”

Steve moved to stand in front of Bucky, hand on his shoulder as he whispered something to low to hear. Tony clenched his jaw.

Clint cleared his throat. “I’ll look over  the footage from nearby cameras and see if I can’t get a direction of travel.”

“And I’ll take the syringe to the lab,” Bruce said.

Tony’s gaze was locked on Bucky. He broke it away to answer. “Yeah, sounds good, guys. Let’s get started.”

The team dispersed except for Steve and Bucky, who were still caught up in something private. Tony glared at them until Pepper came to his side and touched his arm, drawing his attention away.

“Do you need to talk?” she asked.

Pepper always seemed to know when something was bothering him. He hadn’t had a chance to tell her about his parents and how Bucky was involved. Everything was moving too fast, and he felt like he was spiraling out of control. He felt guilty for thinking of his parents when Peter was missing, but the anger and hurt lingered. He couldn’t deal with that now. He needed to focus on finding Peter. Shoving the thoughts aside, he answered Pepper, “Later, not now. Peter comes first.”

She pressed her lips together tightly, and she studied his face before sighing and tipping her head in a nod. “Okay, but we talk later.”

Tony looked back to Bucky and Steve, eyes falling on the metal arm that had killed his parents. He had to draw a breath to steady himself. “I need to meet Bruce in the lab.” He looked at her. “Why don’t you meet with Natasha and add any enemies we might have to her list.” He moved to walk away but paused. “And stay away from Bucky.”

Her brow furrowed, and she glanced at the soldiers before looking back at him. “Tony?”

“We’ll talk later.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took a little while. Life has been busy. Chapters will be coming slower for a bit. This time of year is always busy for me. I'm doing a fic exchange and have written two fun Irondad stories so far. You'll be seeing those after Christmas. Anyway, I hope you like this chapter!

Steve rapped his knuckles against the doorframe to Bruce’s lab. Tony faced away from him. He didn’t look up, just raised a hand and waved him inside. Steve could see Bruce in the back corner of the lab, an array of monitors in front of him, fingers flying over the keyboard. The man didn’t acknowledge him.

Steve walked to Tony’s side. He had multiple things going on at once, traffic cameras were displayed on one screen, data scrolled on another, his fingers tapped his tablet as he scratched notes. Amazingly, he seemed to be following all the information at once.

“What do you need, Rogers?” His greeting was clipped and to the point, not even bothering to look up, keeping his focus on the screens in front of him.

“I—I was talking to Bucky,” he said awkwardly. It had sounded better in his head.

Tony snorted. “Good for you.”

“Tony.” Steve sighed. “Don’t be like that.”

Tony slammed his pen onto the counter, turning to face him. “How would you like me to be? Happy that he killed my parents? You want me to give him a fucking hug and tell him it’s okay?”

If it were only that simple. Steve knew he was asking a lot of Tony. The man had every reason to be angry, and that made everything so much harder.

“Of course not,” Steve said after a beat, “but you saw what they did to him. He didn’t choose that. For Christ’s sake, Howard was his friend.”

“And he was my dad!”

Steve pressed his lips together, taking a breath. When he let it out, his shoulders sagged, and he ran a hand through his hair. “He’s hurting over what he did.”

Tony scoffed but didn’t respond, turning back to his tablet and picking up his pen.

Steve’s gaze flicked to the screens and back to Tony. “I didn’t come here to fight.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, collecting himself. It would be easy to fight, but that wouldn’t solve anything. Pushing down his frustration, he continued. “I just—Bucky’s worried that Hydra could be behind this, and honestly, after listening to him, it makes sense. If they knew their connection, then they might use Peter to draw Bucky out.”

Tony’s hand curled into a fist, and his breath seemed to catch. He was silent for a moment before speaking. “The results of the analysis are back. It was a specialized sedative—unique.” Tony paused, hanging his head. “Hydra’s been tied to its use in the past.”

“You think they have him?”

Tony sucked in a breath, glancing at Steve. “It’s all I’ve been thinking for hours. We’ve seen what they’re capable of—the idea of that happening to Peter.” Tony looked down at his hand that was clenched in a fist. “I can’t—he’s just a kid.”

“We’ll find him, Tony. If they took him to draw Bucky out, then they’re keeping him alive.”

Tony wet his lips, nodding. “Have Barnes meet with Nat. Give her everything he knows. We’re two steps behind them. I wanna be ahead by tomorrow.”

* * *

After Steve’s visit, Tony couldn’t focus. He needed to keep his attention on Peter, but what Bucky did niggled at the back of his mind. Getting Peter back should be his only concern, yet Tony couldn’t shake the dark thoughts surrounding his parent’s death. He felt guilty for even thinking about what happened while Peter was missing.

Growling, Tony raked his fingers through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to clear his mind. The image of his mother dying wouldn’t leave his mind, and he fought the urge to find Bucky and beat him within an inch of his life. A sick part of him wanted to see Bucky beg for his life. Then he realized with a twist of his stomach that he had already seen it. Tony had watched Bucky’s memories. He’d seen Hydra take him apart, piece by piece as he begged for an end to the pain.

He was angry at what had been done to his family, but he never wanted to see someone beg again. The memory of the man pleading for death would haunt Tony forever. His anger cooled and began to turn to something else. He wanted revenge, but not from Bucky—he wanted it for him, for what they did to him, for what they made him do. For Peter and his parents and everyone else that had been screwed over by the Hydra. He needed to make them pay.

He took a few moments to gather himself before heading up to the common room to meet with the team. They needed to compare notes. He hoped they had some good news.

The living room had been turned into a makeshift command center. The coffee table was littered with maps and folders, scraps of paper and post-it notes. Clint was perched on the arm of the loveseat, laptop balanced on his knees, his face scrunched in concentration. Natasha paced by the windows, phone to her ear as she spoke in Russian. Steve and Bucky sat on the couch, murmuring and looking over the maps. Bruce and Pepper stood by kitchen, talking. Tony knew Pepper was strong, but he could see the worry in her eyes. She kept brushing her hair back, a nervous tick. From what Tony could hear, Bruce was reassuring her, something Tony was thankful for as he wasn’t sure he’d be able to do that himself.

Clearing his throat, Tony made his presence known. Heads turned in his direction. Natasha held up a finger as she finished her call. When she was done, she came over and stood behind the loveseat.

“He’s been gone over fourteen hours. Where are we at?”

Clint sighed. “I tracked the vans on traffic cameras for a few miles but lost them on the edge of the city. We know they were headed north, so that’s a start.”

“I’ve spoken to a few contacts. Things are fairly quiet. The only real activity in the area has been Hydra.”

Bucky’s metal hand clenched into a fist, and Steve placed a hand on his knee. Anger bubbled in Tony. He didn’t want to blame Bucky, rationally he knew it wasn’t his fault, but it was his hands that had killed his mother. It wasn’t easy to look past that. He tried, though. He swallowed down the urge to make a rude comment.

Steve squeezed Bucky’s knee, then turned to Tony. “Bucky marked out all the known bases of operation within a three-hour drive, and we’ve started on locations further out.”

“I’ve notified authorities,” Clint said, “and we’re watching airstrips nearby in case they try to move him by plane.”

“Good,” Tony said. “Like I told Steve earlier, we need to get ahead of them. I think we should focus on Hydra but not rule anyone else out just yet. I’m sure Bruce has told you, the compound in the syringe was one of Hydra’s known agents.”

Bucky lifted his head and looked at Tony. “If they took him, they did it to get to me. I know what we have to do.”

“Buck—” Steve started but was cut off.

“This isn’t about you, Steve,” Bucky said. “I put Peter in danger—I put everyone in danger—and I should be the one to fix it.”

Natasha shifted, crossing her arms over her chest. “What are you saying, James?”

Bucky’s lips twitched into a frown and looked down at where his hands were clasped in his lap. “I’m gonna give them what they want—me.”

“Absolutely not!” Steve snapped. “You’re not going back there. We’ll find another way.”

Bucky shook his head. “There isn’t another way—not one that will guarantee getting Peter back.”

His earlier thoughts on Bucky came back to mind. “We’re not in the business of trading lives,” Tony said flatly. “We’ll find another way—end of discussion.”

Bucky’s head snapped up. Fire flickered in his eyes. “You don’t get to decide that. It’s my life, and I’ll do what I want with it.”

“Tough, you owe it to Peter,” Tony said. “He wouldn’t want you throwing your life away.”

Bucky shook his head, his hands clenched in fists. “Peter is worth it. Going back—I’d do it a thousand times over, and I know you would, too.”

Steve's head shook. “I just got you back, Buck, and I’m sure as hell not letting you go now. We’ll find another way.”

“He’s right, James,” Natasha said, making Bucky's head turn in her direction. “You’re part of our family. We do this together.”

“I ain’t part of your family, though.” Bucky glanced back to Tony, his voice full of resolve. “I don’t deserve family after what I’ve done. Just let me do this—let me do it for Peter, let me do one good thing.”

Tony stared at him, swallowing against the tide emotions rising in his throat. A hand touched Tony’s shoulder. Pepper was beside him, and he drew strength from her presence. Bucky was ready to go back to a life of torture just to save Peter. It said a lot about him as a man. Tony couldn’t let that happen.

“Peter wouldn’t want you trading your life, and—and I don’t want you to either.” Pepper squeezed his shoulder. He’d briefly told her what had happened. They’d both cried, and she had made it clear that she was with him no matter what he decided. Taking a breath, he met Bucky’s gaze. “As far as I see it, you owe me, and I’m calling it in. You won’t give yourself up, you’ll work with us, and we’ll figure this out—as a family.”

Bucky kept his eyes locked on Tony, his expression hard and unyielding. Everyone seemed to be watching and waiting. Finally, Bucky’s head moved in a small nod, and Tony released the breath he was holding. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if Bucky hadn’t agreed.

The nod that Steve gave Tony a moment later was full of meaning. Tony returned it. It wasn’t forgiveness—because Bucky didn’t need to be forgiven. It was understanding. As easy as it would be to blame Bucky, it wasn’t his fault, and Tony was letting him know he understood. Hydra had killed his parents—not Bucky. He’d been just as much a victim as they were.

Pepper cleared her throat. “I know none of you want to stop, but I think it would be a good time to take a break. You need to eat and rest. We won’t do Peter any good if we’re not thinking straight.”

Tony sighed. “As much as I hate it, Pep’s right. It’s been a long day. We should refuel, catch a nap, and come back with fresh eyes.”

Bucky looked at Tony. “I don’t need much sleep. I’ll keep working.”

Tony nodded, knowing when to choose his battles. “Okay, the rest of us, eat, shower, sleep. We meet back in a few hours. Friday, keep doing your thing, girl. Let us know the moment you find anything.”

* * *

Peter’s stomach ached from hunger. It felt like his stomach was trying to turn itself inside out. He wasn’t used to hunger pains anymore, and it wasn’t something he missed. He’d managed to sleep for a few hours on and off. He felt hungover from whatever they’d given him. His wrists were worn raw from the cuffs and stung whenever he moved them. His mouth was dry, and his lips were cracking. He’d give anything for a drink. A slight headache added to his misery.

His captors hadn’t opened the door once since putting in the room, and on top of the dying thirst, he really needed to pee. That situation would need to be dealt with sooner rather than later.

Wincing at the bite of the cuffs, he wrangled himself to his feet and stretched the best he could, shooting the camera an unimpressed look. The ache in his shoulders had turned to a steady pulling pain from having his hands cuffed in front of him.

With one more glance at the camera, Peter walked over to the door and gave it a kick, not too hard but enough to make a good thump.

“Hey, jerkwads, I could really use a bathroom break and something to drink—preferably not poisoned.” He kicked the door again. “I’m not joking. I’ll go in the corner if you don’t get in here soon.”

Peter heard footsteps moving away from the door, followed by silence. He scowled at the camera.

“I know you’re watching, you creeps. I need food and water—a bathroom. Basic necessities.”

The light on the camera blinked mockingly, and Peter growled, kicking at the door again. He hoped they found him soon before he lost it and used his powers.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took a little while. If you've poked around in my works, you'll see I was busy writing one-shots. I'm back to trying to finish this. I'm actually surprised how quickly this story is going. I think we are almost there, guys. Thanks for sticking around. I look forward to hearing what you guys think.  
>  **warning:** There is torture in this chapter. It's not described in gory detail, but some might call it a little graphic. I tried to avoid going into detail. I only really described it after the fact and damage done.

“It’s been three days! How are we no closer to finding him!” Tony slammed his fist on down on the workbench, rattling the desk.

Pepper placed her hand on his lower back. “We’re doing everything we can.”

* * *

Days. It had been days, and so far, the only interaction Peter had had with his captors was when a goon came in with a bucket and a roll of toilet paper, and later, with a bottle of water and a peanut butter sandwich. He ate the meager offering and scowled at the camera. A few hours later, Peter used the bucket. He’d definitely hit a new low.

His stomach was a constant nagging ache, and the single bottle of water did little for his thirst. The fear that he wasn’t going to be found began to gain traction in his mind, and worry settled deep in his bones. He wondered what was taking them so long, even if his captors had been decent. Exhaustion was starting to overtake him. He hadn’t slept much, and the lack of real food was beginning to make itself known.  He needed to find a way out. If he waited much longer, he wouldn’t be able to fight. His senses needed to be sharp if he planned an escape.

He was curled up in the corner of the cell, arms around his knees when he heard footsteps outside the door. A moment later, the lock clanked, and with a groan of protest, the door opened. Peter eyed the men as they walked into the room, making a beeline for Peter. He stiffened and then pushed himself to his feet.

“Let’s go,” the man closest to him said as he reached for Peter’s arm.

Peter yanked it back and stumbled into the wall. The other man approached, cornering him in. Goon Number One grabbed him, but Peter tried to shove him away. He managed to wriggle out of his hold, only for something not unlike a cattle prod stabbing into his side, lighting him up. The electricity coursed through him, making his jaw clench and muscles go rigid. On a scale of tickled to being hit by a train, it was closer to being hit by a train.

He groaned, knees nearly buckling when the guy finally pulled the prod away from his side. He felt weak and a little nauseous. When they took his arms the second time, Peter didn’t fight. He allowed them to guide him out. His eyes drooped as he walked, and when they brought him to a new room, they shoved him inside. Peter stumbled to regain his footing and looked around the room. It looked like something out of a horror movie. There was a chair in the center of the room with straps that were open and ready to hold him. A tray of tools was on a small metal table, looking nefarious.

Instinctively, he backed up, going for the door. He only registered the danger as the prod pressed into his back, and then he was collapsing to the floor, knees buckling. He clenched his jaw, eyes squeezed shut. When it ended, he breathed through his teeth as he composed himself.

“Put him in the chair,” a voice said from the door. Peter looked up to see a man in a suit, his hair was dirty blond and his face weathered by age. His blue eyes cut through Peter. His spidey sense screamed at him to run, but there was no easy way out.

The two goons grabbed him under the arms and dragged him back toward the chair. They dropped him in the seat, and the man in the suit watched, his hands in his pockets. Peter tensed, and soon as he went to fight them off, the prod hit him again. They took the momentary loss of control to strap him into the chair.

“Hurting me isn’t a good idea. It’ll just piss off the people coming to save me.”

The man in the suit smirked. “I consider it motivation. Coming for you is exactly what we want.”

Another guy brushed the man in the suit. He was carrying a small camera.

“You’re an idiot if you think they’ll just walk into a trap.”

“I think after seeing what we do to you, they’ll do anything to bring you back—even handing over one of their own.”

Peter narrowed his eyes. “They won’t trade lives.”

The man chuckled. “I think you know that’s not true. The soldier cares about you. After he sees what we’ve done, he’ll be walking right through the front door.”

Fear trickled through his veins, not for himself, but for Bucky. Peter knew that the man was right. Bucky would trade his freedom to save Peter.

The man looked at the guy with the cattle prod. “I’ll be in my office. Work him over, make him beg for them to save him.”

Peter narrowed his eyes, yanking against his bonds. Even with his strength, they didn’t budge. It was like they were made to hold an enhanced. His stomach sank as he realized that they may have been made to hold Bucky.

The man in the suit smirked, his eyes dancing with amusement. “I like a little spunk in a victim. It’s been a while since we broke someone.”

Peter twisted, pulling against the straps. He practically snarled at the man. “Do your worst.”

Another hit from the cattle prod made him convulse. The man in the suit slipped away as the camera was set up. Peter spit and fought as they dragged the tray of tools closer.

Movement by the door caught his eye, and a man in black tactical pants and a black t-shirt stepped into the room. He had a neatly trimmed goatee and dark glint in his eye. His lips curled into a smile when he saw Peter. The other goons stepped back to make room for him, and he walked over to the tray, running his fingers over the tools. He smiled at Peter, all teeth, and Peter spat in his face. The man’s expression darkened, and he wiped his face.

He looked down at the tray of tools and picked up a drill. “I was going to work up to this, but I think we’ll dive right in.”

Hours later, they dragged him back to his cell. His legs wouldn’t work, and his eye was swollen shut. Blood caked his clothes and hands. Some of his fingernails were missing. All he could taste were the metallic notes of blood, his broken nose and split lip bleeding down his throat and mouth. He was weak from blood loss. They’d been careful to watch his bleeding, making sure they never went too far. When they’d demanded he look at the camera and tell Bucky to save him, he’d just spit at the man with the goatee again and got a drill to the leg as a result.

The only hope he had was that Friday would be able to track the video when they sent it.

* * *

“Boss, I have a transmission coming through our private servers. I’m tracing it now.”

Tony looked up from the hologram in front of him. The team tensed around him. Pepper came to his side as he began to follow the transmissions path. It was a video file, and if he was lucky, he could nail down a location it came from.

“What’s going on?” Pepper asked, her hand on his shoulder.

Tony’s eyes flew over the stream of data. “It’s almost like they want to be found.”

Steve’s voice came from behind him. “What’d you find?”

“I don’t know yet. Someone just delivered a video file to our private servers. Friday caught them. I’ve almost narrowed down a location.”

“Can we see the video?” Steve asked. “Maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with Peter.”

“Friday, play the video and keep tracing it back until you find a source.”

A holographic screen was projected into the air from a device on the coffee table, everyone in the living room froze when they saw the image. It was Peter. Fear spread through Tony’s veins and settled in his heart, clenching it tightly. He sucked in a breath when the video began.

Bile rose in his throat as he watched Peter scream until his voice was raw, but he never complied. Time and time again, they demanded that he ask for the soldier, demanded he beg for his life, but he never would.

A drill was buried in his leg, and he screamed.

“Tell him to come for you,” the man with the drill said. “Beg for him to save you.”

Peter blinked away his tears, blood trickled from his nose. He lifted his chin. “Fuck you!”

The drill started again, and Peter screamed. Tony dove for the trashcan and fell to his knees, heaving the little in his stomach up. The video continued to play in the background, but Tony couldn’t watch. Call him weak, call him a coward, but he couldn’t watch his kid in pain like that.

Tony dry heaved again, and then thankfully, the video ended. He pushed himself to his feet and looked at the others in the room. Pepper was crying, Natasha had a distant look, Clint’s jaw was twitching, and Bruce was a little green. Then he caught Bucky and Steve. Bucky’s face was hard, his jaw tight and hands clenched in fists. Steve was trying to talk him down, looking ill himself.

“Boss, I found the source. It came from an abandoned school upstate. I’ve plotted the course and sent it to the jet and suit.”

Natasha frowned. “It could be a trap.”

“I don’t care. I can’t—I’m not leaving him there.”

Bucky stepped forward. “We need to go.”

Steve sighed. “Is it really a good idea for you to go? We don’t know if the words are out of your head.”

“Don’t care. It’s my fault he’s there.”

Natasha eyed Bucky. “I agree it’s a risk, but if they’re expecting us, we’ll need all the help we can get.”

“Enough chatter,” Tony said. “Suit up. Wheels up in ten.”

Pepper took his elbow and turned him to face her. “Bring him home, but be careful.”

His lips pressed into a line, and he nodded tightly before pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“I will.”

Tony chose to ride along with the team in the jet. They discussed plans on the way, going over the schematics of the building. They had no idea where he was being held and would be relying on building scans when they got there to pinpoint heat signatures.

The building showed at least twenty people in the building, most in the basement. The first floor seemed mostly abandoned. The building was clearly being used for a base of operations, cameras covered all vulnerable points, and Friday picked up sensors in the windows and doors. It was probably a trap, and they were going to walk right into it because they didn’t have another choice.

“How we doing this?” Steve asked as the jet hovered nearby.

Tony was in his suit, but his helmet was down. “I think we all know they’re expecting us. I say we go in hot and lay them out.”

Bucky met his gaze. “I’ll find Peter.”

“We’ll both find Peter.”

Just as expected, the moment they put the jet down, the gunfire started. Hydra had been waiting for them. Tony went first, bullets not a problem for his armor. He took out the shooters he could see and waved for the team to follow. An inhuman roar vibrated the air, and Tony knew the hulk had joined the fight. Bruce had a soft spot for the kid, and Tony wouldn’t be surprised if that transferred to the Hulk.

Another roar and heavy feet pounded the ground, coming alongside Tony. The Hulk went straight to the main door, triggering an explosion that he only served to make him angrier. The Hulk roared and tore his way through the building. Tony flew through the opening where the doors used to be and headed toward the basement level. He kept tabs with the team, who were all making their way inside.

“I got a single heat signature in the room below us. I think there are guards outside the door,” Tony called out.

“Confirmed,” Steve said. “Buck, wait—”

“What’s going on?” Natasha asked.

“Steve?” Tony replied.

“Bucky’s already in the stairwell. He’s heading to Peter. I’m trying to catch up.”

Tony blasted a guy in the chest and went straight to the stairs. “I’m on my way. I’m taking the east stairs.”

When he reached the basement, he expected gunfire, but it was quiet. He froze when he rounded the corner. A man Tony recognized as Alexander Pierce was standing in the hall in front of Bucky, a small book open in his hands. Bucky had his gun trained on him. Beside Pierce, two men held Peter’s limp body, a gun to his temple. The boy looked on the edge of consciousness.

Tony didn’t know what to do. He was terrified to move. He could take out the guy with the gun, but that was no guarantee the other man wouldn’t shoot Peter before he could stop him. Bucky’s aim didn’t waver as he pointed his gun at Pierce. The man’s mouth was moving, and it was then that Tony’s realized he was saying Bucky’s trigger words.

“… Homecoming, one, freight car.” Pierce closed the book. “Kill the kid.”

Tony shifted his aim to Bucky as the man turned on Peter. He knew Steve would never forgive him, Peter would never forgive him, but he couldn’t let Bucky kill Peter. If there was anything he had learned from Bucky, it was that he would rather die than hurt Peter. For all the pain Tony had over his parent’s death, he didn’t want it to end like this. He didn’t want to kill Bucky.

Peter lifted his head and stared down the barrel of Bucky. “It’s okay, Bucky. I understand. I don’t—I don’t blame you.”

The repulsor on his palm whined as it charged. Tony blinked away the tears in his eyes. He didn’t want to do this, but he couldn't let Peter die. The gun in Bucky’s hand wavered, and his eye twitched. Peter smiled. It looked wrong against the bruises and cuts on his face.

“I forgive you.”

Just as Tony prepared to fire, Bucky turned and put a bullet through Pierce’s head. Tony quickly shot the man holding the gun to Peter, and Bucky subdued the rest. Peter slumped to the floor.

Tony left his suit and ran to Peter. Bucky was already knelt beside him, checking his pulse.

“It’s thready, breathing’s rapid. He’s in shock.”

Tony brushed Peter’s sweat-soaked hair from his forehead. There was so much blood. It was everywhere, coating Peter’s clothes, clinging to his skin. It made Tony’s stomach clench. Peter blinked his eyes open, meeting his gaze. The corners of his mouth twitched.

“I knew you’d come.”

“I’m sorry it took so long.” Tony pressed a kiss to his temple.

“Tony, we need to get him out of here. I’ll carry him. You make sure the path is clear.”

He didn’t want to let Peter go, but he knew Bucky was right. He gave Bucky a tight nod before brushing his fingers through Peter's hair again.

“Bucky’s gonna get you out of here. It’s time we got you home.”

Peter made a noise in his throat, and his eyes drifted closed. Tony looked at Bucky.

“Take it easy with him.”

Bucky nodded. “I’ll keep him safe.”

Tony clapped a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “I know you will. I trust you. Now let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to come shout at me on tumblr. I get bored and lonely.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, guys. I might do an epilogue later, so keep your eye out, but we've finally reached the end. Thank you all for reading. You have been amazing. If there is something you'd like to see in an epilogue, let me know. I might eventually do a few one-shots for this series. Again, if there's something you might like to see, let me know. Thank you all again for coming along on this journey. You're all great.

Peter drifted. He didn’t feel pain. Everything felt dull and detached. Voices drifted close but never near enough to understand. The world was out of reach, and Peter was okay with that. That darkness he floated in wasn’t cold or scary—it was soft and warm. It wrapped around him like a blanket. Somewhere in his mind, he knew he was safe, and the knowledge let him rest.

He didn’t know how much time passed in the dark, but eventually, the light began to creep in around the edges, trying to reach him. He pulled back from it, but it was insistent and kept stretching closer. The softness began to feel sharp, and the muted whispers became loud. Then all at once, it became too much, and he gasped, blinking his eyes open. The pain was the first thing he felt, a deep, dull ache in his bones. Then a hand was squeezing his and his gaze drifted toward the touch.

Tony was leaning over the edge of the bed, deep lines of worry painting his face. His eyes searched Peter’s face.

“Are you with me?”

He licked his lips, blinking tiredly at Tony. His lips felt dry and chapped against his tongue. He tried to speak, but his throat was parched, and it came out as a croak. Tony turned and grabbed a bottle of water from beside the bed, bringing it to Peter’s lips. The water felt amazing against his throat, and he tried to move toward the bottle, reaching up to grab it, wanting to gulp it down, but Tony brushed his hand away.

“Little bit at a time, kiddo, not too fast.”

Tony brought the bottle back to his lips, letting Peter drink. He was careful to drink slowly. When he was finished, Tony set it on the side table, then cupped the side of Peter’s head and rubbing his thumb against his temple.

“Is Bucky okay?” Peter asked. He didn’t remember much, but he couldn’t forget Bucky’s eyes as he held the gun to him. Peter could only imagine how the man must be feeling.

Tony sighed. “Yeah, he’s worried about you, though. How are you feeling?”

Peter tried to take stock of all his aches and pains, but his concern for Bucky was at the forefront. “He’s not mad?”

Tony sat on the edge of the bed, taking one of Peter’s hands in his own. He ran his thumb over Peter’s knuckles. “I don’t think he’s mad—upset, maybe? You told him it was okay to kill you.”

Peter looked down at where Tony held his hand. “I didn’t want him to blame himself.”

“Well, it’s something you two will need to talk about. I’m just glad things worked out how they did.”

He lifted his gaze. “You were going to kill him, weren’t you?”

Tony pressed his lips together, letting a heavy breath out through his nose. “I was going to do what I had to, what Bucky would have wanted.”

“I never want someone to die because of me, but I guess I understand. I’m not mad at you. I’m honestly not sure what I would have done in your position.”

“I hope you never have to be in a position like that.”

Peter tried to adjust himself against the pillow, but it sent a sharp pain through his leg. For a brief moment, his mind went back to the room and the man with the drill. It felt like a band tightened around his chest. A hand cupped his cheek, making Peter open eyes that he didn’t remember closing. Tony was looking at him with concern.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re back. No one can hurt you here.”

Peter panted, twisting his fingers in the sheets, despite the splints on a few fingers. The pain in his hands grounded him. After a few seconds, he gave Tony a jerky nod and apologized.

“Don’t apologize. You’ve been through hell, Pete. I saw—I know what they did to you. That’s not something you just get over.”

Peter licked his lips, reaching up and taking Tony’s hand, pulling it to his chest. He clutched it like a lifeline. “I don’t know what happened. My leg was hurting, and then it was like I was back there. I’m sorry.”

“Enough with the apologies. You have nothing to be sorry for. If anyone should apologize, it should be me. If I had found you sooner.” Tony clenched his jaw, averting his gaze. He took a few deep breaths and then looked back at Peter. “I can’t forgive myself for what you went through.”

Peter shook his head. “If I can’t say sorry, then neither can you. I never gave up, you know. I knew you’d find me.” He shook his head. “You didn’t let me down. Even when they were hurting me, I could hear your voice telling me to hang on, and I did. I couldn’t have made it without you.”

There were tears in Tony’s eyes, and he squeezed Peter’s hand. “You did so well. I’m proud of you.”

Peter smiled, and it pulled on his chapped lips. “You know how you asked how I was earlier?”

Tony’s brows pulled together. “Are you in pain?”

Peter shrugged a shoulder and then winced. “I’ve definitely felt better.”

Tony reached over with his other hand, brushing Peter’s hair back. “Friday, get Bruce. Tell him Peter’s awake and in pain.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

“I should have made sure you were alright first,” Tony said. “What’s hurting the most?”

Peter scrunched his face a little as he took stock. “My fingers kinda hurt, my leg aches, and my head just feels funny—sorta like a headache is starting.”

“You were in pretty rough shape. On top of the muscle damage to your leg, you had some broken fingers.”

The glass door to the medbay opened, and Bruce stepped inside. His clothing was rumpled, and his hair was a mess. It didn’t look like he’d slept. But when he smiled, it was genuine and reached his eyes. He crossed the room to Peter’s bed.

“It’s good to see you awake? How are you feeling?”

Tony turned his head to look at him. “He’s in pain.”

“It’s not that bad, but it feels like it’s getting worse. Mostly my leg, my hands a little, too.”

Tony squeezed his hand gently, careful of his injured fingers. “And he’s got a headache started.”

Bruce nodded, reaching over to the IV stand and pressing a few buttons. Then he checked the bag. It was still mostly full. “The headache could be from dehydration, but might be from low blood sugar, though I’m feeding you nutrients that should be helping.”

“What about the pain?” Tony asked.

“I just increased his pain meds. He should be feeling them anytime. It’s important he rests.”

Just as Bruce spoke, Peter felt a lightness hit him, and the pain began to retreat. It felt like he was floating. “Thanks, I think they’re starting to work.”

Bruce smiled, resting a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Good, we should really try to get some food into you, but you need rest. I’ll leave it up to you what you want to do.”

Peter yawned. “I think I’ll sleep.”

“I think that’s a good idea. When you wake up, we’ll get you some food. Your body is working overtime trying to heal you, and you’re weak right now.”

Peter struggled to keep his eyes open, and before he knew it, he’d drifted off to sleep.

When he woke next, the room was dimly lit. He expected to see Tony beside him but was greeted by Bucky’s intense stare. Peter blinked a few times and brought a hand up to rub his eyes. The splint on his fingers scratched his eyebrow. Bucky was still staring at him, and Peter squirmed under the gaze.

“Hey,” Peter said, toying with the splint on his fingers.  A few of his other fingers were wrapped, and from what he remembered, a few nails had been torn out. A couple fingers had been dislocated. Apparently, a few broken, too.

Bucky’s jaw worked side to side, his gaze hard. The corner of his mouth twitched. “What were you thinking?”

Peter frowned. “What do you mean?”

Bucky’s eyebrow quirked. He huffed and leaned back in the chair. “You were just gonna let me kill you.”

“Oh, that.”

“Yeah, _that_.” Bucky dragged a hand over his mouth. “I heard what you said, Pete. Did you mean it? That you’d forgive me for killing you.”

“If you had—it wouldn’t have been your fault. I didn’t want you to blame yourself.”

Bucky was quiet for a moment, staring at the wall above Peter’s head. “We found something out the day you were taken. Maybe it was something I’d always known and just didn’t want to accept.”

“What are you talking about?”

A frown wrinkled Bucky’s brow. He sighed, looking down at his hands that were clasped in his lap. “I killed Tony’s parents.”

Peter’s mind skidded to a halt. He searched Bucky’s face for the lie, but he only saw the painful truth. He swallowed against his rising emotions. He could see the pain and regret on Bucky’s face. He thought back to when he was staring down the barrel of Bucky’s gun. He thought of the forgiveness he had for him. It wouldn’t have been his fault, and he knew just from his eyes alone that he hadn’t chosen to kill Tony’s parents either.  

“It wasn’t you, though, was it?”

Bucky shrugged, a sad smile twisting his lips. “Wasn’t it? It was my hands.”

Peter shook his head. “But it wasn’t your mind. You didn’t choose that. Is Tony—does he know?”

“Yeah, he saw the memory.”

“You’re still here, though. Does that mean he forgives you?”

Bucky glanced up to meet his gaze. “I don’t know. We haven’t really talked about it, but back at the school, he said something—he said he trusted me, so maybe there’s a little hope, even if I don’t deserve it.”

“You do.” Tony’s voice came from the doorway, making them both turn. In his hands was a tray of sandwiches and a few small cartons of milk. He shrugged a shoulder. “Sorry for eavesdropping, but I came to bring you some food.”

Tony crossed the room, grabbing a bedside table and dragging it over to Peter. He placed the tray on it and nudged the table until it was within Peter’s reach.

Peter’s gaze flicked to Bucky, whose head was down, his shoulders tense. Tony seemed to notice Bucky’s posture, his own expression softening.

“So, me and the kid came to an agreement earlier. It’s something I think you should get in on, too.”

Bucky looked up, confusion touching his brow.

Tony shrugged. “We decided that the only people to blame are Hydra and that neither of us owes anyone an apology.” He paused, glancing at Peter. “I think Pete agrees when I say that you shouldn’t need to apologize either—not for things beyond your control.”

“But—” Bucky started, but Tony cut him off.

“No buts, Bucky. It’s pretty simple. I learned something from our kid—I learned about forgiveness, and I think I wanna be more like him.” He waited until Bucky met his gaze. “I forgive you, Buck. It wasn’t you—not really.”

Bucky’s breath stuttered and his face scrunched. He looked away, and a moment later, he wiped at his eyes. When he looked back at Tony, his lashes were damp with tears.

“I don’t deserve it.”

Tony smiled. “Yeah, you really do. I just hope someday you can forgive yourself.”

A sob shook Bucky’s shoulders and he ducked his head, hiding his tears. Peter tore his gaze away to look at Tony, hoping to convey with a look what he felt—appreciation, love, and thanks. Tony smiled back. They still had a lot of things to work out, and it wouldn’t be easy, but they had a start. They had all finally found a home—and a family, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it, and again, let me know if you're interested in an epilogue or have any one-shots you'd like to see. You're all amazing and I love you!


	19. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this satisfies. Thank you again, snarks

“Are you sure you got everything?” Pepper asked as Peter slung his bag over his shoulder.

He’d double and triple checked. He had his phone and his watch. If anything went wrong, he could call. His suit was tucked at the bottom of his bag, just in case. His shoes were tied and on the right feet. Even though he hadn’t slept much the night before, he felt ready.

He was finally going back to school.

The memories of his time with Hydra were still fresh, but he had been coping okay, and Tony had made sure everyone involved had spoken to a therapist, even Tony himself. It had helped immensely, and Peter continued to see one. Bucky did, too. Things were starting to smooth out, something Peter was grateful for, and once Tony and Bucky had a chance to talk, they had started to bond over science and robots, a topic that interested them both. Bucky insisted that Tony needed to build a flying car, as he was promised one at the expo before he shipped out. Tony laughed, but the glint in his eye said that maybe he really would be making that happen.

“I’ve got everything, and I promise to call if anything happens.”

Pepper smiled. “Oh, wait. I want a picture!”

Peter’s cheeks pinked and ducked his head. “That’s such a mom thing to do.”

“Well, since that’s what I am, I guess I get to do it, then.”

She took his picture and then ushered him out the door. He’d offered to swing to school, but Pepper and Tony had insisted Happy drive him.

Pepper followed him to the garage. Tony was already there talking to Happy. They stopped talking when he and Pepper approached, turning to face them.

“Hey, kid, you ready for your big day?” Tony asked.

“Yeah, I think I am.”

What he didn’t say was that he was nervous. Going back to school meant seeing friends that he had ghosted. They didn’t know his story and the things he’d been through. And then there was Ned, his best friend. Peter didn’t know what he’d do if Ned didn’t want to be friends anymore.

Swallowing his nerves, he let Tony guide him into the backseat as he slid in after him. Happy got in the driver’s seat, and Pepper waved as they made their way out of the garage.

Peter watched out the window as they drove. Tony stayed quiet beside him. His injuries were all healed, but their ghosts still haunted him. He rubbed at his leg where the worst of the damage had been. His mind started to wander, and he began to work his jaw.

A warm, calloused hand touched him, and he glanced down. Tony pulled Peter’s hand away from his leg, rubbing his thumb over his fingers.

“You sure you’re ready for this? We can wait.”

Peter shook his head. “I need to do this.”

Tony squeezed his hand, and they rode in silence the rest of the way. When they got to the school, Peter forced a smile, saying goodbye to Tony and Happy. He climbed from the car and faced the entrance to Midtown. He had dreamed of coming back here, and now it was finally happening. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself and then made his way inside, passing students as he went.

The crowds in the hall were overwhelming. He felt like he was drowning, and there was no lifeline to pull him to safety. He started to question his choice and considered pulling out his phone to call Tony. His gaze roamed the sea of faces until his eyes locked on a familiar one. It was Ned. Peter’s heart hammered in his chest and a lump formed in his throat. He almost turned and ran, unsure what to say, when Ned looked at him. His once friend’s eyes widened a fraction and he blinked, then a warm smile spread across his face. Peter stood frozen as Ned shouldered his way to Peter.

Ned stood in front of him, a goofy smile on his face that made Peter’s lips twitch up.

“So, Star Wars, am I right?” Ned broke the tension.

Peter laughed. “Yeah, I’ve got some new Lego sets if you’re interested.”

Ned’s smile widened. He nodded his head a few times. “Right on, man. I’m definitely interested.”

Then Ned’s hand moved, and Peter’s followed. Even though it had nearly a year, he could never forget their handshake. By the time they got to the end, they were both laughing.

“It’s good to see you again, Peter.”

Peter sucked in a breath. “It’s really good to see you, too. You’re not gonna believe the things that have happened this year.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *edit to add* I've had a few ask if I'm going to continue this series, and yes, I'll be doing more. I'm planning to write some one shots and outtakes for this, so if you're interested, subscribe to the series. I guess I'm just not ready to let the characters go. If you have anything you might like to see or explored some more, please let me know in a comment or drop me a line on Tumblr.

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](https://snarky-drabbles.tumblr.com/)   
> 


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